BY 


D.LOTHROP  '  CO. 


BBB 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF  CAPT.  AND  MRS. 
PAUL  MCBRIDE  PERIGORD 


(H 


'tsu^s*    1      L 


JL. 


UNIVERSITY  of  CAUi<'UK«iA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
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HEAVEN'S  GATE 


A   STORY  OF  THE  FOREST  OF  DEAN 


BY 


LAWRENCE  SEVERN 


(  '  JU*  A 


BOSTON 
D.    LOTHROP    AND    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN  AND   HAWLEY  STREETS 


144335 


COPYRIGHT,  1886,  BY 
D.  LOTHROP  AND  COMPANY. 


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WITH  HEARTFELT  PLEASURE, 
TO 


MRS.  J.  H.  R.  MOLSON,    t^^MTW 


J 

IN  TOKEN   OF  THE   DEEP   RESPECT  AND  LOVE 
OF 

LAWRENCE   SEVERN. 


PROLOGUE. 


A  FEW  words  upon  the  locale  of  my  story  before 
the  curtain  is  raised  and  the  actors  are  seen  upon 
the  stage. 

You  must  realize  that  the  village  you  are  going  to 
see  belongs  to  a  past  age, — to  England  before  railways 
had  been  established  long  enough  to  affect  the  small 
hamlets  buried  away  in  rural  districts,  before  emigra- 
tion had  carried  away  its  thousands  to  the  free  life  of 
the  New  World,  before  schools  had  been  established 
by  Government  for  the  education  of  the  poor.  The 
England  of  to-day  holds  out  her  hands  to  the  poor, 
with  her  board  schools,  her  art,  and  (recently)  her 
music  schools,  where  all  are  welcome  to  a  free  educa- 
tion who  have  talent  of  a  high  order  or  genius.  The 
England  of  the  days  of  which  I  write  kept  all  her 
opportunities  for  culture  and  refinement  among  the 
classes  of  the  nobly  born  or  wealthy.  Individual 
efforts  were  made  by  the  land  owners  to  improve  the 
condition  of  the  poor  on  their  estates  ;  but  the  English 
peasant  inherited  the  instincts  of  the  serf  from  whom 
he  was  descended  with  a  liberal  endowment  of  his  vices, 
and  was  not  to  be  raised  to  a  higher  level  by  any  half 
measures.  The  refinement  of  education  had  seldom 
been  tried  upon  his  undeveloped  nature. 


Vi  PROLOGUE. 

Society  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  village  was,  of 
course,  narrowed  into  the  usual  class  distinctions  which 
affected  also  the  religious  denominations  of  the  com- 
munity. All  people  of  refinement  and  culture  in  those 
conservative  days  were  supposed  to  attend  the  Estab- 
lished Church.  To  dissent  from  this  long-approved 
course,  meant  social  ostracism  among  the  gentry,  and 
few  among  the  aristrocratic  county  families  were  bold 
enough  to  depart  from  the  church  of  their  class.  Those 
who  braved  popular  opinion  came  chiefly  from  the 
middle  classes.  Being  perfectly  independent  in  a  busi- 
ness point  of  view,  proud  of  their  old  family  tree,  and 
of  their  power  to  think  as  they  pleased,  they  often 
assumed  an  attitude  of  vigorous  opposition  to  the  Es- 
tablished Church.  They  fought  well  for  freedom  of 
opinion  and  exemption  from  taxation  in  form  of  Church 
rates.  We  hardly  realize,  in  these  days  of  comparative 
religious  freedom,  how  much  we  owe  to  the  staunch 
spirit  of  our  forefathers ;  their  determination  not  to 
yield  to  unjust  demands. 

Amongst  the  sturdiest  of  Dissenters  was  the  Baptist 
community,  and  a  history  of  their  battles  for  freedom 
in  the  neighborhood  of  which  I  write  would  make  an 
interesting  volume  of  itself.  They  earned  religious 
freedom  for  their  descendents,  but  brought  down  on 
their  own  devoted  heads  much  obloquy  and  contempt 
from  the  Church  party.  It  was  inevitable,  in  the  condi- 
tion of  things  at  that  period,  that  the  congregations  of 
Dissenters  should  be  composed  chiefly  of  the  lower 
classes,  and  I  have  already  shown  the  abyss  of  igno- 
rance in  which  those  classes  were  plunged.  The 
Church  people,  in  stigmatizing  Dissenters  as  vulgar 


PROLOGUE.  Vll 

and  common,  had  only  too  much  ground  for  their  criti- 
cism, as,  with  the  few  exceptions  of  the  gentry  from  the 
middle  classes  who  attended  the  Baptist  Church,  there 
remained  none  but  the  ignorant  and  uneducated  to 
swell  the  ranks.  Thus  my  description  of  the  Baptist 
Church  in  the  following  village  scenes  is  no  exaggera- 
tion, it  falls  short  of  what  was  a  very  unpleasant  reality. 
But  it  must  be  understood  that  I  do  not  mean  to  show 
this  church  as  one  typical  of  the  times  even,  merely  of 
the  place  and  its  surroundings ;  for  any  one  at  all 
conversant  with  the  history  of  the  Baptist  Church  in 
London  will  know  that  it  had  long  been  able  to  hold 
its  own  amongst  the  refined  and  cultured  of  the  age. 
The  times  that  produced  the  church  of  which  I  write 
are  dead,  and  I  imagine  the  possibility  of  a  congrega- 
tion of  people  whose  aims  were  so  low  and  ideas  of 
right  and  wrong  so  obscure  is  dead  also. 

Many  of  the  lowest  of  the  poor  joined  the  Ranters, 
whose  open-air  preaching  attracted  them,  and  appealed 
to  their  emotional  natures,  but  most  of  the  people 
found  it  to  their  interest  to  go  to  church.  The  Baptist 
Chapel  began  service  half  an  hour  before  the  church 
bells  rang,  in  order  that  such  as  dared  be  true  to  their 
convictions  might  not  be  confronted  by  their  employers 
in  the  streets,  a  meeting  which  would  result  in  the 
probable  dismissal  of  the  employe  next  day. 

Of  course,  since  the  Church  of  England  was  the 
established  church,  the  food  therein  provided  must  have 
been  of  the  very  best  (?). 

In  the  course  of  my  story  I  have  taken  an  oasis  in 
the  desert,  have  chosen  a  period  when  a  fine,  noble 
man  did  his  best  to  improve  the  moral  atmosphere  of 


Viil  PROLOGUE. 

the  village.  Before  he  came,  however,  years  had  gone 
by,  finding  in  church,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  a  man 
whose  hollow  roof  and  consequent  indistinct  utterance 
made  every  word  of  the  service  unintelligible.  The 
church-goers  endured  this  for  years  without  making  any 
protest ;  the  unfortunate  man  had  been  given  a  position 
in  the  church  because  his  infirmity  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  earn  his  living  elsewhere.  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, the  people  felt  they  might  go  farther  and  fare 
worse,  since,  in  the  next  parish,  a  fox-hunting  rector 
ruled  supreme.  He  was  a  younger  son  of  a  royal 
house,  and  was  given  this  parish  because  the  income 
was  large,  and  his  relatives  hoped  would  be  enough  to 
support  one  of  very  extravagant  habits.  He  was  a 
bold  rider  across  country  after  the  fox,  would  walk  up 
to  his  vestry-door  on  Sundays  in  converse  with  the 
master  of  the  hounds,  and  was  frequently  so  drunk  that 
the  clerk,  after  finding  all  his  places  for  him,  had  much 
ado  to  keep  him  from  reading  the  same  prayers  and 
passages  through  twice ;  while  at  funerals  not  even  the 
prompting  of  the  clerk  at  his  elbow  could  keep  him 
from  burying  a  dearly  loved  sister  for  a  brother,  much 
to  the  discomfiture  of  the  relatives.  In  a  parish  some 
twenty  miles  distant  was  another  fox-hunting  clergy- 
man, about  whom  many  an  amusing  anecdote  might 
be  related ;  but  I  have  said  enough  to  show  how  little 
the  Established  Church  was  able  to  cope  with  the  moral 
and  spiritual  needs  of  the  community. 

It  would  have  been  fairer,  perhaps,  had  I  taken  one 
of  these  as  my  type  of  the  Church  of  England  at  that 
time ;  but  these  men  would  have  been  foreign  to  my 
story,  which,  like  many  plants,  will  only  turn  one  way 
however  you  place  them. 


PROLOGUE.  IX 

I  can  only  hope  that  my  readers  will  realize  that  this 
is  merely  a  local  story,  and  that  I  had  to  take  my 
people  as  my  fancy  found  them  in  one  small  village 
near  Wales,  long,  long  ago. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
INTRODUCES  THE  HERO i 

CHAPTER    II. 
THE  SLEEPING  PARTNER  BEGINS  TO  AWAKE  18 

CHAPTER    III. 
AN  EVENING  IN  DEAN 29 

CHAPTER    IV. 
PURCHASE  OF  THE  COLLIERY  is  DECIDED  UPON        .        .      41 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  WOMEN'S  "  FETE  " 53 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MR.    FORDYCE   SETS    FOOT    IN    HEAVEN'S    GATE    ...         70 

CHAPTER   VII. 
AT  "THE  HOLLIES" 81 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
THE  LOVERS'  WALK      .        .  04 


Xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  PICNIC  TO  "THE  SLAUGHTERS" 109 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  RIDE  TO  TINTERN 125 

CHAPTER  XI. 
PANCAKE  KEAR »44 

CHAPTER  XII. 
"JUMPING  JIM"     .  153 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  GAME  OF  CRICKET 167 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
MR.  DE  CLIFFORD  GOES  TO  CHURCH  .....    179 

CHAPTER  XV. 
MR.  SELWYN  MEETS  MR.  ROLLS  IN  THE  LANE        .       .    190 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVEN'S  GATE       ....    204 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE  FATTED  CALF  is  KILLED  FOR  WILLIAM   .       .       .    220 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
MARTA  AND  MR.  FORDYCE  .        .        .        .        .        .        .    235 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
THE  PICNIC  TO  THE  SCOWLES 246 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

CHAPTER   XX. 
THE  VILLAGE  WORTHIES  GO  TO  CHURCH  ....    258 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
THE  YACHTING  PARTY 275 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
WILLIAM  AND  DR.  HERLY  IN  THE  MINE  ....    287 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  "  THE  HOLLIES  "        .    300 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
AT  THE  UPLAND  LEVEL 311 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
INTO  THE  DARKNESS  OF  THE  MINE 317 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  RETURN  TO  HEAVEN'S  GATE 331 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 
FAREWELL  TO  THE  FOREST 339 


HEAVEN'S   GATE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCES    THE    HERO. 

THE  little  village  of  K lies  in  the  Vale  of 
Severn.  It  is  very  quaint.  Built  in  the  old 
feudal  times,  its  cottages  have  little  beyond  their 
picturesque  external  aspect  to  recommend  them. 
The  streets  are  straggling  up  the  hillside,  or 
stretching  down  the  shady  lanes  towards  the 
meads  where  the  cattle  feed  by  the  river.  Some 
tin  mills,  situated  about  a  mile  from  the  village, 
provide  employment  for  a  portion  of  the  inhabi- 
tants ;  a  larger  part  depend  on  treacherous  Severn 
for  their  livelihood ;  the  remainder  work  for  the 
farmers  all  the  year  round,  hedging  and  ditching, 
haymaking  and  harvesting. 

Beyond  the  village  stand  the  massive  pillars  of 
the  park  gates  which  lead  through  an  avenue  of 
oaks  to  the  mansion  owned  by  the  "  Lord  of  the 
Manor,"  Mr.  Selwyn.  Far  as  eye  can  reach,  this 
side  of  Severn,  the  land  is  his.  The  farms  around 


2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

are  held  by  tenant  farmers  whose  family  tree  bore 
its  first  fruit  in  the  days  of  the  Conquerer,  yet 
neither  they  nor  their  forbears  have  ever  owned 
an  acre  of  the  land  they  love  so  well.  They  cannot 
buy,  for  Mr.  Selwyn  has  not  power  to  sell  these 
entailed  lands. 

One  bright  August  afternoon,  some  thirty  years 
ago,  the  park  gates  were  thrown  open  to  the 
public,  as  a  grand  cricket  match  was  being  played 

between  the  K club  and  the  Cirencester  eleven. 

Tents  were  set  up  in  the  park,  and  a  bevy  of  ladies, 
some  of  them  from  the  Mite  of  the  county  families, 
sat  watching  the  game,  and  mildly  flirting  with 
any  charming  youths  who  held  themselves  in 
readiness  for  such  amusement.  Marta  De  Clifford, 
unlike  most  of  the  West  County  ladies,  took  little 
interest  in  cricket.  She  had  preferred  the  shady 
park  gardens,  where,  in  close  converse  with  Minnie 
Selwyn,  the  afternoon  hours  had  fled  swiftly  away. 
The  bell  in  the  clock  tower  struck  four ;  Marta 
hastily  bade  her  friend  farewell.  It  was  time  to 
call  at  the  school-house  for  her  little  cousins,  Jennie 
and  Olga. 

She  drove  quietly  along  the  shady  lanes,  her 
eyes  resting  lovingly  on  the  ridge  of  the  Cotswold- 
blue  in  the  distance,  on  the  broad  stretch  of  river 
in  the  valley,  and  on  the  nearer  view  of  the  village 
nestling  amid  the  apple  orchards  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills.  In  a  few  minutes  the  lane  led  into  a  street, 
where  ducks  quacked,  and  children  played  noisily. 


THE    HERO.  3 

As  Marta  passed  by  the  children  stood  still,  and 
dropped  a  meek  little  curtsey  in  answer  to  her 
kindly  smile.  Those  coming  from  the  well  with 
pitchers  of  water  on  their  heads  also  made  their 
curtsey,  notwithstanding  their  burden.  The  fish- 
ermen, passing  with  the  salmon  nets  on  their 
shoulders,  pulled  a  rough  forelock  in  salutation. 
It  was  evident  Marta  was  a  favorite,  and  she  sat 
like  a  queen,  dispensing  smiles  and  bows  until  at 
length  she  stopped  old  Jerry  at  the  school-house 
door.  As  the  children  did  not  appear,  Marta 
knew  that  the  school-room  atmosphere  must  have 
been  of  a  stormy  nature.  She  opened  the  door, 
and  went  quietly  up-stairs. 

"  Young  ladies,  young  ladies,  I  will  have  order. 
Silence  !  "  Decidedly  the  order  must  be  obeyed. 
Bang,  bang!  went  eight  slates  upon  the  table. 
Eight  half-frightened,  half-laughing  faces  looked 
at  the  head  of  the  table  where  the  minister  stood 
irate,  with  flashing  eyes  and  crimson  cheeks,  whilst 
his  reverend  foot  stamped  with  rage  upon  the  un- 
carpeted  floor. 

The  Rev.  E.  E.  Graves,  irate,  was  a  spectacle 
worthy  of  attention.  Every  careless  school-girl 
knew  exactly  what  to  expect  at  such  a  time.  She 
knew  that  her  evil-doing  would  be  brought  home 
to  her  soul  in  consequences  which  would  be  direful 
in  the  extreme.  A  tiny  man  the  minister,  encased 
in  cloth  which  had  worn  its  way  through  all  stages 
of  shabbiness  until  it  had  arrived  at  a  rusty  brown, 


4  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

depriving  the  wearer  of  the  dignified  appearance 
supplied  by  the  glossy  clerical  black.  This  ill- 
clothed  body  was  surmounted  by  a  studious, 
intellectual  head,  so  very  bald  now,  that,  to  the  ill- 
regulated  minds  of  the  scholars,  some  of  its  bumps 
seemed  in  the  wrong  places,  and  capable  of  im- 
provement in  a  skilful  modeller's  hand.  At  this 
moment,  his  face  and  manner  were  didactic,  stern, 
wrathful ;  such,  however,  was  not  his  normal  mood. 
Heaven  only  knows  the  provocation  required  to 
break  up  the  long-suffering  calm  of  the  studious 
divine.  See  in  the  Rev.  E.  E.  Graves  the  minister 
of  the  Baptist  church,  passing  rich  on  a  salary  of 
sixty  pounds  a  year.  What  has  he  to  do  with  the 
eight  girls  whose  sums  in  all  rules,  from  addition 
to  decimals,  are  half-rubbed  out  on  their  slates  ? 

Sixty  pounds  a  year,  a  wife  who  gave  freely 
to  the  poor,  and  a  daughter  to  support.  Sixty 
pounds,  though  doubtless  an  ample  salary  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  paid  it,  changed  its  character 
when  considered  in  relation  to  the  claims  on  it. 
Miss  Graves,  who  inherited  her  father's  studious 
habits,  consented  to  educate  the  children  of  her 
friends.  She  might  have  had  a  large  school,  could 
she  have  condescended  to  take  the  daughters  of 
the  trades-people  ;  but  she  refused  to  do  so.  Her 
school,  at  most,  numbered  eight,  and  its  renown 
for  high  scholarship  was  spread  throughout  the 
West  County.  Her  father  assisted  her  when  she 
was  very  busy,  teaching  arithmetic  and  parsing, 


THE    HERO.  5 

while  his  daughter  gave  music-lessons  down-stairs. 
The  school-room  was  also  his  study.  His  desk 
and  a  bookcase  containing  his  manuscript  sermons 
were  there ;  and  so  absent-minded  was  he,  that  he 
wrote  his  discourses  day  by  day  oblivious  to  the 
shrill  scoldings  of  his  daughter's  voice,  or  the 
weeping  and  wailing  of  those  pupils  whose  natural 
stupidity  prevented  them  from  grasping  the  sub- 
ject when  too  sharply  handled.  The  elder  girls 
parsed  from  "  Paradise  Lost,"  and  treated  him  ill. 
If  they  had  to  recite,  regardless  of  honour,  they 
read  from  the  page  he  so  artlessly  held  under  their 
eyes.  They  put  their  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
coaxed  him  not  to  tell  of  them  when  they  missed 
their  lesson,  stroking  his  hair  and  calling  him  a 
"dear,  good  little  man,"  knowing  that  victory  was 
to  the  strong,  and  many  of  the  girls  were  bigger 
and  stronger  than  the  minister.  At  times,  how- 
ever, no  coaxing,  no  endearments  could  silence  the 
voice  in  his  soul  which  assured  him  that  non-per- 
formance of  duty  required  punishment  at  his  hands. 
More  than  once  during  the  arithmetic  hour  he  had 
asserted  his  power,  and  completely  vanquished  the 
school-girls.  He  had  just  worked  himself  up  to 
the  point,  and  was  saying,  "  Young  ladies,  J  shall 
keep  you  in" — when  Marta  entered  the  room, 
went  straight  up  to  him,  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  stooped  to  kiss  him. 

"I  have  come   for  Jennie  and  Olga,"  she  said 
gently.     "  You  will  let  them  go,  will  you  not  ? " 


6  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Marta,"  he  replied  suavely. 
All  his  wrath  was  gone :  he  sat  down  to  his  desk 
and  began  writing  again. 

"Oh!"  said  Marta,  "how  I  wish  I  were  a  girl  at 
school  again."  She  passed  round  the  room,  looking 
regretfully  at  the  shelf  that  used  to  be  hers,  then 
with  a  glance  took  in  the  idle  girls  at  the  table. 
Scarcely  a  slate  but  had  fancy  pictures  drawn  on 
it  instead  of  sums.  Jennie  and  Olga  blushed  as 
they  washed  their  slates,  then  took  their  hats  and 
followed  Marta  down  to  the  phaeton.  They 
climbed  in  gleefully  opposite  their  cousin,  who 
drove  slowly  through  the  village.  At  the  cricket 
field  she  stopped  the  horse,  and  sat  with  expectant 
eyes  upon  the  cricketers,  who,  the  game  over,  had 
gathered  round  the  umpire  at  the  far  end  of  the 
field. 

"  Can  you  see  William,  children  ? "  said  Marta 
presently,  with  a  slight  tremble  in  her  voice. 

"/can,"  said  Olga  readily. 

"  Go,  then,  dear ;  tell  him  Marta  wishes  to  speak 
to  him." 

Olga  ran  lightly  across  the  park,  her  curls  blow- 
ing far  behind  her.  Very  soon  she  reached  the 
group  ,of  cricketers.  One  came  forward  and  lis- 
tened to  her  message  given  in  a  whisper :  with- 
out delay  he  bounded  across  the  field. 

"  I  thought  I  would  call  for  you,  William,"  said 
Marta,  laying  one  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  No  use  at  all.     I  am  wanted  for  the  evening," 


THE    HERO.  7 

said  he.  "  Sit  up,  Marta,  dear,  and  let  me  in :  I 
know  I  shall  be  late.  Our  side  has  won,  and  the 
Cirencester  fellows  are  determined  I  shall  be  at 
the  public  dinner  to-night." 

"  O  William  !  "  said  Marta  anxiously,  "  uncle 
will  be  so  angry.  And  you  —  you  promised  him, 
William,  that  you  would  not  go  again  to  the  inn." 

"Did  I  ?"  he  said  carelessly.  "Well,  what  can 
I  do  ?  All  the  fellows  will  call  me  a  fool.  Captain 
of  the  match,  and  not  appear  at  the  public  din- 
ner! It  cannot  be  done,  Marta." 

The  young  man  looked  a  little  anxiously  at 
Marta  as  he  spoke.  He  threw  back  the  hair  that 
waved  over  his  white  forehead,  and  his  beautiful 
face  showed  to  advantage.  Marta,  looking  keenly 
into  that  face,  saw  nothing  of  its  beauty.  Her 
eyes  dwelt  sadly  on  the  weak  lines  of  the  mouth 
that  changed  from  decision  to  indecision  with  every 
thought. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  tell  the  cricketers 
more  than  you  wish,"  said  steadfast  Marta.  "  You 
made  the  promise  knowing  that  you  would  have 
trouble  to  keep  it.  Is  it  beyond  your  power,  Wil- 
liam, to  keep  your  promise  to  uncle,  and  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  dinner  ?  " 

"  Oh !  if  you  look  on  it  in  that  light,"  said  Wil- 
liam, drawing  himself  up.  "  Wait,  will  you  ?  I 
must  get  my  coat." 

Wait !  How  long  would  not  she  have  waited  to 
make  sure  William  was  safe  ?  She  looked  after 


8  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

him,  saw  that  the  men  laid  hold  of  him,  deter- 
mined that  he  should  not  escape.  Cheers  and 
groans  rilled  the  air;  and,  at  length,  some  half- 
dozen  of  the  cricketers  carried  him  in  their  rough 
fashion  across  the  field,  followed  by  the  others  in 
procession. 

"He  has  made  a  splendid  score,"  said  one. 
"Never  saw  such  an  inning." 

"  Are  you  going  to  carry  him  off  with  you  ? " 
said  another. 

"  Miss  De  Clifford,  you  take  away  the  light  of 
the  party.  Will  you  allow  me  to  come  too?" 
said  a  voice  which  Marta  delighted  to  hear  for  its 
pure  intonation  and  absence  of  dialectical  coarse- 
ness. 

"  O  Dr.  Herly !  you  here  ?  I  did  not  know. 
Olga  and  Jennie  will  make  room  for  you  between 
them." 

William  took  the  reins :  the  cricketers  cheered 
and  stood  back  from  the  phaeton.  Marta,  with  a 
glad  light  in  her  eyes  which  made  her  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever,  bowed  her  adieux  to  the  country 
swains,  who  had  rejoiced  to  see  and  speak  to  her 
so  unexpectedly. 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  give  up  the  old  collieries, 
and  take  to  professional  cricketing,"  said  William, 
as  he  drove  rapidly  up  the  lane.  "  Did  you  ever 
see  a  steadier  head  and  hand  than  mine  to-day, 
Herly  ? " 

"  Rarely ;  but  it  was  working  at  high  pressure, 


THE    HERO.  9 

remember,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Your  men  had 
done  badly  :  you  were  intensely  excited.  To-mor- 
row you  will  collapse ;  your  eye  will  be  unsteady, 
your  head  dizzy." 

"  That  is  all  the  credit  you  give  me,  eh  !  "  said 
William,  laughing. 

"All  I  can  give  conscientiously,"  he  replied. 
"  I  was  interested.  The  mixture  of  race  saved  the 
honor  of  the  West  County  Cricket  Club.  Yes, 
William,  your  excitement,  your  success  to-day,  you 
owe  to  some  Celtic  ancestor.  Yet,  I  tell  you, 
man,  I  would  not  choose  you  on  my  side  to-mor- 
row." 

"Then  we  may  conclude  to-morrow  will  find 
him  at  work  at  the  collieries,"  said  Marta  brightly. 

Some  of  the  excitement  of  the  match  still  clung 
to  William,  and  he  began  to  exert  himself  to  amuse 
his  visitor.  No  sooner  were  they  in  the  country 
lanes  than  he  began  to  mimic  the  quaint  phraseol- 
ogy of  his  country  neighbors.  His  knowledge  of 
the  dialect  was  perfect,  and  his  sense  of  humor 
keen,  and  Dr.  Herly  a  man  whom  it  was  worth 
while  to  entertain. 

Marta  began  to  be  a  little  tired  of  it.  The  dia- 
lect was  always  cropping  up  daily,  and  she  fought 
a  hard  fight  to  keep  it  outside  of  the  family.  She 
did  not  know  that  this  dialect,  which  was  the  bug- 
bear of  her  life,  the  use  of  which  she  deemed 
"vulgar,"  was  worthy  of  study  on  her  part.  Wil- 
liam knew  this ;  and  Dr.  Herly,  amongst  many 


IO  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

other  heterogeneous  studies,  had  given  that  of 
English  country  dialects  a  good  share  of  atten- 
tion. 

The  road  wound  a  mile  and  a  half  up  the  hill- 
side, and  before  the  latter  half  was  reached  became 
very  steep  indeed.  At  a  certain  place  old  Jerry 
turned  and  rested,  as  was  his  habit.  Marta,  with 
Dr.  Herly  and  the  children,  left  the  winding  car- 
riage-road, and  took  the  foot-path  which  led  over 
the  common.  The  doctor  ran  races  with  Jennie 
and  Olga,  and  played  "follow  the  leader"  over  the 
gorse  bushes  and  tufts  of  heather.  Marta  fol- 
lowed, happy  and  smiling.  Hat  in  hand,  she 
walked  in  the  shade  cast  by  the  stone-wall;  her 
fair  hair  shone  in  the  sunlight,  imprisoned  sun- 
beams flashed  in  and  out  the  flaxen  braids ;  often 
she  called  across  the  heather  to  William,  who 
sauntered  on  the  rugged  road  with  the  reins  in 
his  hands,  while  old  Jerry  meandered  from  side  to 
side  as  he  willed  in  his  climb  towards  Heaven's 
Gate. 

"  Heaven's  Gate ! "  Only  the  caprice  of  the 
country  folk  had  given  it  the  name.  Heavy, 
clumsy,  slow,  pure  Saxon  race,  with  here  and  there 
maybe  a  slight  admixture  of  Welsh ;  yet  from  their 
dull  perceptions  the  name  emanated.  Hear  them 
talk :  their  power  of  expressing  much  in  few  words 
deserves  attention.  "  Purty,  b'aint  it  ? "  When 
this  is  said,  nothing  more  is  required  from  their 
vocabulary  to  show  appreciation;  after  that,  the 


THE    HERO.  I  I 

speaker  will  gaze  his  fill  in  silence.  Such  reti- 
cence appears  in  the  light  of  virtue  to  the  true 
lover  of  nature,  who  frets  and  chafes  at  the  su- 
perlatives which  flow  in  a  stream  from  the  lips  of 
the  commonplace.  There  are  some  things  which 
no  vocabulary  of  words  can  fitly  describe :  we  are 
not  intended  to  reduce  every  thing  we  see  and 
hear  to  words. 

"The  wild  beauty  of  the  situation  of  Heaven's 
Gate  strikes  me  afresh  every  time  I  come  in  sight 
of  it,"  said  Dr.  Herly,  coming  to  Marta's  side. 
"That  heavy  pine  wood  at  the  back,  and  those 
gaunt  old  firs  standing  alone  keeping  guard  over 
the  boulders.  Few  country  houses  can  have  such 
weird  surroundings." 

"  We  are  quite  a  mile  from  the  nearest  cottage. 
I  often  feel  the  place  is  lonely." 

"  It  is  better  than  living  in  the  village,"  said 
Dr.  Herly,  his  thoughts  adverting  to  William,  who, 
now  perfectly  happy,  was  singing  as  he  drove  old 
Jerry  along  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Olga~'ran  to 
open  the  gate  for  the  carriage.  Old  John's  cross 
face  was  to  be  seen  peeping  out  from  behind  the 
yard  gates,  crosser  than  usual.  Olga  clapped  her 
hands  with  joy  as  she  saw  a  well-known  phaeton 
tilted  up  near  the  coach-house. 

"  Uncle  Timothy  is  here,"  she  called.  "  Oh  !  I 
wonder  if  he  has  brought  Dick." 

Yes  ;  Dick  was  to  be  seen  marching  in  glory  up 
and  down  the  lawn,  very  manly,  and  even  severe 


12  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

in  the  possession  of  his  first  high  hat.  Olga  ad- 
vanced with  full  appreciation  of  its  fine  effect,  but 
his  elder  brother  Reginald  quietly  knocked  it  off 
as  a  laudable  effort  to  teach  him  manners.  Olga 
picked  it  up  tenderly  and  smoothed  it  with  her 
hand,  and  Dick,  suddenly  possessed  with  a  sense 
of  the  humour  of  the  situation,  gave  up  aping  at 
manly  dignity,  and  retired  with  his  cousins  to  a 
sequestered  arbor  where  the  dolls  reigned  supreme. 

Marta  came  up  the  path  under  the  overarching 
trees,  tall,  and  very  fair,  her  plain  white  dress  the 
emblem  of  fitness  to  her  character  and  appear- 
ance. Reginald  stood  still  with  critical  eye, 
watching  every  step,  every  gesture,  as  he  had 
done  for  upwards  of  ten  years.  It  was  nothing  to 
Marta.  She  merely  looked  on  it  as  a  habit  of 
Reginald's :  sometimes  she  wondered  if  the  criti- 
cism renewed  so  frequently  was  in  her  favor. 
Reginald  would  have  been  glad  to  have  been  able 
to  reply  unhesitatingly  in  the  affirmative.  The 
state  of  indecision  was  unpleasant,  and  he  ignored 
the  unpleasant  in  his  path  through  life ;  but,  when 
the  cause  arose  within  himself,  he  was  at  sea, 
riding  in  a  storm  without  a  helm. 

"  Reginald,  I  expected  you,  somehow,"  said 
Marta,  standing  full  in  the  light,  hat  in  hand,  and 
sunbeams  in  her  clear  blue  eyes. 

"For  a  Madonna,"  he  replied,  without  moving 
hand  or  foot,  "give  me  a  Flamande.  Stand  as 
you  are,  Marta,  —  white  dress,  serene  face,  cloud- 
less, passionless"  — 


THE    HERO.  13 

"  Flamande  ? "  cried  William  impetuously.  "  She 
is  all  Saxon.  We  sink  the  Flamande  :  we  only  re- 
member she  is  Marta." 

"Yes,"  said  Marta,  calmly,  "I  find  it  impossi- 
ble to  realize  that  I  was  born  in  Flanders,  and 
that  my  mother  was  not  William's  mother,  since 
hers  is  the  first  face  I  remember.  She  is  always 
mother  in  my  thoughts." 

"To  resume,"  said  Reginald.  "You  are  not 'a 
De  Clifford  in  appearance.  Decidedly  you  are 
Flamande." 

"Are  you  making  fresh  discoveries?"  said  Dr. 
Herly.  "  What  a  slow  race  you  Saxon  men  are  ! 
You  take  ten  years  to  think  a  thought  that  passes 
through  a  more  active  brain  in  a  second." 

"  I  appreciate  your  remark,"  said  Reginald,  with 
a  humourous  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  Be  pleased, 
worthy  doctor,  to  look  at  the  group  under  the 
medlar-tree,  and  tell  me  at  one  brilliant  flash  what 
is  going  on  there.  Only  a  life-long  experience  has 
made  such  a  meeting  aught  but  a  riddle  to  me." 

"Your  uncle,  your  father,  and" — began  Dr. 
Herly. 

"  The  sleeping  partner,  Mr.  Rolls." 

"Thank  you  —  and  Mr.  Rolls,  have  met  in  a 
neighborly  way  for  a  talk  over  the  days  of  '  Auld 
Lang  Syne.'  I  wish  I  could  sketch  them,  each 
one  smoking  with  such  earnest  deliberation,  each 
one  with  a  glass  of  cider  beside  him,  and  an  ab- 
sence of  all  worldly  care  or  worry  in  his  face. 


14  HEAVEN S    GATE. 

Reginald,  I  do  not  know  whether  to  pity  or  envy 
such  an  even,  placid  existence." 

"Sir,  you  have  read  the  riddle  wrong,"  said 
Reginald,  laughing.  "  I  see  I  must  interpret. 
Those  old  men  have  met,  as  partners  of  the  '  Old 
Furnace  Collieries,'  on  a  business  meeting,  to  re- 
solve upon  most  urgent  and  stringent  measures. 
Each  one,  torn  with  anxiety,  hates  to  venture  a 
iou,  but  loves  to  realize  the  results  of  a  successful 
Speculation." 

"  Business  !  "  ejaculated  Dr.  Herly. 

"Business,"  repeated  Reginald.  "My  father 
gave  up  his  after-dinner  nap,  and  I  drove  him  over 
here.  We  jogged  along  slowly,  visited  one  or  two 
tenants  on  the  road,  but  were  here  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Rolls,  who  at  present  is  living  at  the  village  inn." 

"I  hope  nothing  is  wrong  at  the  collieries." 

"  The  colliery  next  to  ours  is  for  sale.  Question 
—  is  it  worth  our  while  to  buy  it  ? " 

"  How  will  you  determine  this  ?  " 

"  William  is  a  clever  mining  engineer,  and  I  am 
a  very  fair  one  too.  We  are  to  go  down  and  sur- 
vey to-morrow." 

"  Let  me  accompany  you.  I  have  not  been 
down  one  of  the  mines  in  the  Forest,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  If  you  like  to  risk  your  life  "  —  began  Regi- 
nald. 

The  clang  of  a  bell  at  the  front-door  buried  his 
words,  and  was  immediately  followed  by  the  rush 


THE    HERO.  15 

of  feet,  and  the  children  raced  down  the  garden. 
Marta,  who  had  been  twining  the  damask  rose- 
vines  in  and  out  the  trellis-work  of  the  veranda, 
now  said  it  was  tea-time. 

Aunt  Cathy  —  or,  as  William  designated  her, 
the  "old  cat"  —  was  waiting  to  make  tea.  She 
was  very  tall,  thin,  and  prim,  speaking  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  which  drove  William,  who  had  very  deli- 
cate musical  perceptions,  to  the  brink  of  frenzy 
Aunt  Cathy  was  a  mistake.  She  had  been  a  mis- 
take all  her  life  long  ;  for,  with  the  best  intention, 
she  had  always  the  faculty  of  saying  and  doing 
the  wrong  thing  at  the  wrong  time. 

"  Oh !  you  are  come  home,  William,"  she  ob- 
served. "  I  thought  you  might  stay  with  those 
godless  men.  Well,  I  am  glad  you  did  not ;  but 
no  one  knows  where  to  have  you,  you  are  so  fickle 
in  your  ways." 

Marta's  pleading  eye  restrained  the  sarcastic 
reply  on  William's  lips.  As  it  was,  he  merely  ob- 
served, "that  it  was  always  a  satisfaction  to  his 
mind  to  know  that  his  aunt  would  never  be  sur- 
prised at  any  act  of  folly  or  wickedness  he  chose 
to  commit." 

This  was  decidedly  unpleasant.  Reginald  deter- 
mined to  turn  the  conversation.  Marta,  full  of 
anxiety  on  William's  account,  imagined  that  all 
must  feel  the  responsibility  of  his  future  as  heavily 
as  she  did,  gave  Reginald  credit  for  striving  to 
interest  William.  Had  she  expressed  the  thought 


1 6  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

in  words,  Reginald  would  have  disclaimed  the  idea 
with  disgust.  Impossible  to  imagine  sacrificing 
himself  for  another,  and  most  distasteful. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  after  tea,  "let  us  go  and 
sit  in  the  arbor ;  and,  William,  eccentric  genius 
that  thou  art,  bring  thy  lute,  and  come  play  us  thy 
last  romance." 

"  I  wish  you  were  here  every  evening,"  said 
Marta,  as  they  slowly  strolled  up  the  garden. 
^'William  would  never  want  to  go  out." 

"  Would  he  not  ?  "  said  Reginald  carelessly,  not 
at  all  interested  in  William's  goings-out  or  com- 
ings-in. 

The  arbor  was  cut  out  of  the  tall  growth  of 
laurel  bushes,  and  some  rustic  benches  formed 
seats.  It  was  some  time  before  William  joined 
the  party.  Reginald  and  Dr.  Herly  took  up  the 
thread  of  an  old  argument  concerning  the  growth 
and  power  of  the  body  of  Dissenters  as  opposed 
to  the  Church  of  England.  Marta  listened,  her 
fingers  busied  with  some  knitting ;  she  was  one 
who  could  never  be  happy  without  some  kind  of 
work. 

It  grew  dusk.  Suddenly  a  strain  of  violin  music 
softly  swelled  upon  the  air,  a  voice  mingled  with 
it,  blending  in  exquisite  harmony.  Nearer  and 
nearer,  till  William  at  length  stood  in  the  entrance 
to  the  arbor.  No  close  proximity  could  rob  such 
music  of  its  sweetness.  Little  Olga  ran  in  to 
listen  ;  Dr.  Herly  lifted  her  on  to  his  knee.  Very 


THE    HERO.  I/ 

soon  he  found  that  she  was  quietly  crying.  He 
made  a  sign  to  Marta  that  such  was  the  case,  and 
she  softly  led  the  child  away  to  the  house ;  when 
she  returned,  William  had  finished  his  theme. 

"Olga  is  passionately  fond  of  music.  I  tell 
William  sometimes  he  must  not  do  it ;  he  plays 
upon  her  as  easily  as  on  his  violin,"  said  she. 

"  Tears  do  not  hurt  her,"  he  said.  "  She  is  ab- 
surdly sensitive." 

"  Poor  little  Psyche  !"  said  Dr.  Herly.  "Have 
you  never  thought  how  much  the  weird  surround- 
ings of  Heaven's  Gate  influence  her?  They  are 
at  work  more  quickly  than  you  can  catch  and  de- 
feat them.  Sensitive  and  impressionable  as  she  is, 
how  will  she  ever  learn  aught  but  to  expect  more 
of  life  than  it  can  give  her  ? " 

"  Happiness,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  would  send  her  to  some  cheerful  cottage  in 
the  village,  and  let  her  grow  up  amongst  the  chil- 
dren there.  They  have  got  the  even  balance  of 
character  she  needs." 

"  Who  shall  doctor  to  a  mind  diseased  ? "  asked 
Reginald,  laughing.  "What  a  fuss  over  a  child. 
Children  are  the  bugbears  of  modern  civilization." 


1 8  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    SLEEPING    PARTNER    BEGINS    TO    AWAKE. 

r  I  "HE  village  world,  much  given  to  minding 
J-  other  people's  business,  marvelled  much  at 
the  curious  fancy  Mr.  Rolls  had  taken  to  live  at 
the  village  inn.  It  was  not  as  though  he  had 
cared  to  inspect  the  collieries  with  the  managing 
partner  of  the  firm,  Mr.  Reece,  or  to  talk  business 
with  Mr.  Hughes,  who  was  head  of  the  depart- 
ment in  the  village,  and  who,  some  years  since, 
had  been  admitted  as  partner  in  the  conservative 
old  firm,  De  Clifford,  Reece  &  Co.,  as  reward  for 
faithful  and  life-long  services.  The  office  was 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  inn.  Mr.  Rolls 
could  not  avoid  passing  it  a  dozen  times  daily. 
Village  worthies  once  or  twice  had  seen  him  stroll 
idly  into  the  office  and  exchange  a  few  laughing 
words  with  Mr.  Hughes. 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  how  is  business  to-day  ? " 
All  mankind  was  addressed  by  Mr.  Rolls  as  "  my 
dear  fellow." 

Mr.  Hughes  started  nervously  as  the  sleeping 
partner  stood  close  beside  him,  with  one  white, 
idle  hand  upon  the  books. 


THE    SLEEPING    PARTNER    BEGINS    TO    AWAKE.       IQ 

"I  have  been  chatting  with  some  of  our  poor 
chapel  folks,"  said  Mr.  Rolls,  refusing  to  be  seated. 
"My  dear  fellow,  you  impoverish  yourself  abso- 
lutely beyond  all  reason.  Five  and  thirty  pounds 
to  old  Howies  !  A  large  gift,  my  dear  sir,  a  large 
gift." 

"To  give  freely  is  the  command,"  said  Mr. 
Hughes.  His  voice  was  peculiar ;  it  suprised  the 
hearer  always  afresh  by  its  absence  of  fitness  to 
the  body  from  which  it  emanated.  From  a  stout 
man  of  great  height  and  breadth,  whose  venerable 
head  of  silver-gray  shared  the  massiveness  of  his 
appearance,  issued  a  voice  of  tremulous  hoarse- 
ness. The  countenance,  which  was  turned  fully 
to  the  penetrating  gaze  of  Mr.  Rolls,  was  benign, 
calm,  unruffled.  But  again  an  anomaly  :  eyes  and 
mouth,  well  known  in  mankind  as  exponents  one 
of  the  other,  walked  on  different  roads  in  the 
countenance  of  Mr.  Hughes.  The  eyes  had  long 
ceased  to  mirror  the  thoughts  of  the  cleverest 
business  man  in  the  county,  and  the  mouth  had 
learned  to  model  itself  in  an  urbane  smile  at  the 
will  of  its  owner. 

"Well,  well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  know  your 
own  business  best ;  but  I  own  that  charity  is  be- 
yond the  limits  of  my  Christianity  when  it  touches 
my  pocket,"  said  Mr.  Rolls. 

"  We  have  different  gifts,"  smiled  Mr.  Hughes, 
shuffling  over  some  papers  until  the  page  was  cov- 
ered immediately  under  the  sleeping  partner's  eye. 


2O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"True  enough.  But  now,  what  do  you  say  to 
this  colliery  business  ?  You  are  a  practical  man. 
Which  way  do  you  vote  ? " 

"  Are  they  in  earnest  about  the  purchase  ?  I 
must  say  they  have  an  odd  way  of  doing  business. 
I,  as  a  partner,  have  a  right  to  be  present  at  all 
consultations,  and  I  was  not  even  aware  that  the 
matter  was  looked  upon  in  a  serious  light  at  all. 
What  is  the  purchase  money  to  be  ? " 

"  Seven  thousand." 

"  Seven  thousand  ? "  The  hoarse  voice  became 
hoarser  still.  "  I  shall  never  give  my  consent." 

"The  affair  is  not  decided,"  said  Mr.  Rolls. 
"  We  can't  make  up  our  minds  it  will  be  a  good 
speculation.  Old  Reece  is  a  timorous  soul." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  After  all,  there  is  not  the  slightest 
danger  of  the  bargain  being  concluded."  Mr. 
Hughes  mechanically  wiped  large  beads  of  per- 
spiration from  his  brow.  Mr.  Rolls  playfully 
scattered  the  papers  off  the  book,  and  as  playfully 
glanced  up  and  down  the  page. 

"  You  have  an  error  here  of  twenty-five  pounds 
—  ha,  ha!"  said  he.  "You  forget  I  am  the  clev- 
erest accountant  in  Bristol.  Was,  I  ought  to  say ; 
for  it's  years  since  any  business  thoughts  have 
entered  my  head.  I  am  now  going  to  take  our 
clever  little  minister  for  a  walk.  Add  your  column 
again  ;  you  will  see  I  am  right." 

Mr.  Rolls  strolled  away,  singing  softly  under  his 
breath.  Thomas  Hughes  staggered  to  a  cupboard, 


THE    SLEEPING    PARTNER    BEGINS    TO    AWAKE.       21 

took  therefrom  a  bottle  of  brandy,  from  which  he 
drank  freely. 

"What  a  terrible  man  our  sleeping  partner 
would  be,"  he  muttered,  "if  he  chose  to  wake  up." 

Mr.  Rolls,  as  he  walked  arm-in-arm  with  Mr. 
Graves,  began  to  know  the  history  of  Thomas 
Hughes  by  heart.  Four  things  he  ticked  off  in 
his  sleeping  (?)  brain:  deacon  of  the  church,  super- 
intendent of  the  sabbath  school,  leader  at  all  the 
prayer  meetings,  lavish  in  spending  money  to 
advance  the  interests  of  the  Baptist  cause.  He 
soon  had  at  command  all  he  wanted  to  learn  from 
the  single-minded  little  minister. 

"  You  make  friends  easily,"  said  Mr.  Graves, 
with  a  naive  wonder  at  the  knowledge  Mr.  Rolls 
displayed  of  the  village  folk. 

"  I  find  my  amusement  amongst  them,"  was  the 
reply.  "  What  is  business  to  a  man  of  my  age  ? 
Is  not  that  the  coach  for  the  Forest  ?  Upon  my 
word,  I'll  just  take  a  run  up  and  see  how  the  elms 
and  oaks  are  looking  at  this  season." 

He  hailed  the  coach  and  climbed  on  to  the  box. 
The  coachman  lashed  the  horses,  and  off  they 
dashed.  Mr.  Graves,  bland  and  smiling  with  an 
inward  suavity  only  school-girl  wickedness  could 
disturb,  passed  down  the  street,  bowing  to  every 
one,  and  shaking  hands  with  the  potato-dealer  in 
his  absence  of  mind,  already  his  brain  being  deep 
in  an  abstraction  of  thought  which  made  him  ob- 
livious to  all  things  earthly.  For  a  man  who  had 


22  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

taken  the  box-seat  on  purpose  to  view  the  foliage 
of  the  renowned  forest-trees,  Mr.  Rolls  was  singu- 
larly unobservant.  He  passed  the  whole  time 
chatting  affably  to  the  coachman  who  knew  more 
of  everybody's  business  than  the  parties  them- 
selves were  ever  likely  to  know.  It  was  easy  to 
lead  one  so  garrulous  into  speaking  of  Thomas 
Hughes,  and  Mr.  Rolls  soon  knew  all  that  could 
be  known  of  his  struggles  to  rise  in  the  world, — 
his  present  fine  position  as  one  in  the  firm  of  De 
Clifford,  Reece  Si  Co.,  and  his  free-handed  kindness 
to  those  in  the  station  from  which  he  himself  had 
risen. 

The  coach  rattled  into  the  town,  the  horn 
blowing  and  horses  steaming,  it  stopped  at  the 
Angel  Inn.  Mr.  Rolls  descended,  and  started  at 
a  brisk  walk  up  the  hill  towards  the  country  house 
where  Mr.  Reece,  manager  of  the  collieries,  re- 
sided. He  paused,  breathless,  to  anathematize 
the  hilly  district  where  his  unlucky  fate  had  sent 
him  on  such  a  warm  day.  Yet  he  might  have 

looked  with  favour  at  the  market  town  of  Y , 

whose  irregular  streets  led  far  away  into  the  mead- 
ows. Y is  at  least  eight  miles  from  the  village 

of  K .     It  is  built  in  the  heart  of  the  colliery 

district  amongst  the  hills.  Mr.  Recce's  house  was 
built  on  the  summit  of  the  steepest  of  these  hills. 
Mr.  Rolls  felt  that  life  must  be  one  long  fatigue  to 
those  whose  efforts  to  get  home  must  always  include 
climbing  stiles  and  hills  such  as  these.  At  length 


THE    SLEEPING    PARTNER    BEGINS    TO    AWAKE.       23 

the  high  boundary  wall  of  the  old  house  came  in 
sight,  and  the  luxuriant  growth  of  hollies  and  ever- 
green shrubs.  Mr.  Rolls  paused  at  the  gate  to 
smile  at  the  peaceful  scene  before  him.  Dick  and 
Milly  were  playing  on  the  lawn.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Reece  were  seated  in  the  porch,  enjoying  the  bliss 
of  a  quiet  afternoon,  —  Mr.  Reece  absorbing  the 
contents  of  his  new  number  of  the  "Baptist  Maga- 
zine," together  with  a  long  churchwarden  pipe  and 
flagon  of  cider ;  Mrs.  Reece  busied  with  a  basket 
of  socks  and  stockings  which  she  loved  to  darn 
without  limit. 

"  Reginald  is  intolerable,"  she  remarked.  "  He 
cuts  out  my  darns  with  his  penknife." 

Here  she  raised  her  smiling  face,  and  saw  Mr. 
Rolls.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  making  himself 
at  home  with  a  freedom  highly  gratifying  to  his 
hostess,  and  imbibing  smoke  and  cider  with  a 
relish  imparted  by  his  late  walk. 

"  I  feel  astonished,  and,  may  I  add  without  of- 
fence, disgusted,  at  the  drinking  habits  of  you 
West  County  people,"  remarked  Dr.  Herly,  as  he 
returned  from  the  collieries  with  William  and 
Reginald,  and  stood  in  the  lane  to  look  at  the  old 
gentlemen  in  the  porch. 

"  I  do  not  notice  it,"  replied  Reginald  ;  "  but  I 
ean  easily  imagine  it  would  disgust  a  stranger." 

"The  old  Saxon  race  always  drank  heavily," 
said  William.  "  We  are  pretty  well  pure  Saxons 
in  the  Forest  of  Dean." 


24  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  But  times  have  changed,"  Dr.  Herly  continued. 
"Your  three-bottle  men  died  with  the  advent  of 
Queen  Victoria  to  the  throne." 

"  My  father  never  sits  down  without  a  cup  of 
cider  beside  him,"  said  Reginald.  "  He  does  as 
his  forefathers  did,  but  you  may  have  observed 
that  I  am  of  the  new  generation.  I  never  drank 
too  much  in  my  life." 

"  It  is  strange  to  me  that  you  can  tolerate  the 
society  of  those  who  do,"  replied  Dr.  Herly,  who 
had  found  that  the  blunt  susceptibilities  of  the 
Saxon  invited  frank  dealing. 

"  Oh !  they  are  good  fellows  though  they  do 
drink,"  answered  he. 

"The  temptations  lie  everywhere,"  said  Dr. 
Herly.  "  If  I  were  a  drinking-man  I  should  never 
finish  my  rounds  sober.  At  every  house  I  am 
pressed  to  drink.  Sometimes  I  have  to  stop  at  a 
brook  for  the  water  the  cottagers  are  too  hospi- 
table to  give  me." 

Dick  and  Milly  ran  forward,  and  Rhoda,  an  elder 
sister,  was  seen  coming  from  a  distant  part  of  the 
garden. 

"  We  are  as  black  as  colliers,"  cried  Dr.  Herly, 
as  she  approached. 

"I  like  you  the  better  for  your  courage,"  said 
Rhoda.  "It  is  prejudice,  I  know;  but  I  look  with 
contempt  on  a  man  who  is  afraid,  or  does  not  care 
to  see  the  underground  world." 


THE    SLEEPING    PARTNER    BEGINS    TO    AWAKE.       25 

" '  For  we  are  the  jovial  Foresters, 

Our  trade  is  getting  coal ; 
You  never  saw  the  Forester 
But  was  a  hearty  soul,'  " 

sang  William. 

Lydia  laughed,  and  all  joined  in  the  chorus, 
even  old  Mr.  Reece  in  the  porch.  Then,  after 
pausing  for  a  few  moments,  the  gentlemen  went 
into  the  house  to  prepare  for  tea.  William  paused 
in  the  kitchen  for  a  cup  of  cider.  Dr.  Herly 
watched  him  drink  with  disapproval. 

"Why  do  you  drink  cider  when  you  can  have 
delicious  well-water  ?  "  he  remarked.  "  It  is  a  bad 
habit,  Will.  You  will  be  a  man  behind  the  times 
if  you  are  not  careful." 

"  Do  you  mean  I  shall  be  a  drinking-man  ? "  ex- 
claimed William  flushing. 

"You  do  fairly  well  in  that  line  for  a  man  of 
your  age." 

"That  is  my  business,"  said  William  hotly. 

"And  mine,  as  your  friend,"  said  Dr.  Herly. 
"  Don't  be  cross.  I  followed  all  your  advice  and 
kept  out  of  danger  when  you  warned  me  in  that 
horrible  level  to-day,  though  I  saw  no  risk  in  the 
paths  I  wanted  to  follow.  Can't  you  put  the  same 
faith  in  me,  and  believe  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about  when  I  warn  you  ?  I  am  older  in  years  and 
experience  than  you  are,  and  have  seen  many  a 
life  of  talent  wrecked  on  the  miserable  strand  of 
intemperance." 


26  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Is  thy  servant  a  dog  that  he  should  do  this 
thing?"  said  Reginald,  with  a  scoffing  laugh  un- 
pleasant to  hear.  But  William  gave  a  sudden, 
startled  look  at  the  friend  whose  warning  was  so 
lovingly  given  that  he  was  bound  to  receive  it  in 
the  same  spirit. 

The  clang  of  the  tea-bell  soon  afterwards  sum- 
moned the  guests  to  the  table.  Mr.  Rolls,  as  he 
looked  at  the  Reece  family,  was  struck  with  the 
beauty  of  its  members.  Mrs.  Reece,  though  lack- 
ing in  refinement,  was  a  handsome  matron  ;  Rhoda 
and  Reginald,  the  twins,  were  beautiful  in  coloring 
as  in  feature ;  Dick,  the  debonair,  was  a  pretty 
boy ;  and  Milly,  with  her  large  blue  eyes  and  wav- 
ing chestnut  hair,  was  the  acknowledged  beauty  of 
the  family. 

"  I  saw  our  friend  Hughes  to-day,"  said  Mr. 
Rolls,  when  the  usual  topics  of  conversation  failed, 
owing  to  Mr.  Recce's  dislike  to  any  subject  being 
discussed  upon  which  he  was  ignorant.  As  he 
was  a  man  who  read  little  and  learned  less,  a 
dearth  of  conversation  frequently  brought  silence 
during  meals,  unless,  indeed,  any  one  had  a  dish 
of  gossip  to  serve.  He  hated  science,  and  called 
it  worldly ;  but  he  loved  gossip  next  to  the  "  Bap- 
tist Recorder." 

"  Hard  at  work,  I  suppose,"  growled  Mr.  Reece. 

"  Certainly,  hard  at  work.  Should  you  think 
now  he  had  saved  much  money  ? " 

"  With  a  wife  and  seven  children  ?  No ! " 
laughed  Reginald. 


THE    SLEEPING    PARTNER    BEGINS    TO    AWAKE.       2/ 

"Ah!  you  surprise  me."  Mr.  Hughes,  had  he 
been  present,  might  have  trembled  again  at  the 
idea  of  the  sleeping  partner  waking  up  too  suddenly. 

"His  wife  has  private  property,  doubtless,"  he 
suggested. 

"  Not  any.     She  comes  of  a  poor  family." 

"William  gives  a  bad  account  of  the  colliery, 
father,"  said  Reginald.  "  He  is  afraid  of  the 
water  from  an  old  pit  adjoining." 

"  Is  there  coal  there  ? "  asked  Mr.  Reece. 

"  Yes ;  it  is  richer  than  we  thought.  The 
Swales  have  worked  it  the  wrong  way.  Rightly 
worked,  it  ought  to  pay  well." 

"  But  the  risk  is  enormous,"  said  William,  with 
a  serious  manner  which  gave  Dr.  Herly  a  glimpse 
of  the  fine  possibilities  latent  in  his  character. 
"The  water  is  certain  to  break  in  sooner  or  later." 

"  Tut,  tut !  You  young  folks  think  yourselves 
so  wise,"  said  Mr.  Reece,  with  the  greed  of  gain 
in  his  eyes.  "  The  gaveller  thinks  it  quite  a  safe 
speculation." 

"  Can  there  be  such  a  thing  ? "  said  Dr.  Herly, 
smiling  pleasantly.  "  I  wonder  how  William  ar- 
rived at  such  a  profound  knowledge  of  mines  and 
mining  engineering  ? " 

"  Part  of  it  is  inherited  from  his  Welsh  ances- 
tors, I  am  convinced,"  said  Reginald,  with  a  laugh. 
"  They  are  known  to  have  been  in  the  colliery  line. 
I  believe  workingmen,  eh,  Will  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  And  I  can  use  a  pick  with  any 
man." 


28  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  But,  alas !  "  groaned  Reginald,  "  my  inspec- 
tion into  our  own  family  archives  has  resulted  in 
general  humiliation.  I  followed  the  branches  of 
the  tree  with  satisfaction  so  long  as  they  were  of 
Forest  growth ;  but  when  I  sought  for  informa- 
tion as  to  its  transplantation  here,  the  result  was 
agonizing.  Pity  me,  Herly,  but  the  confession 
must  be  made.  The  first  Reginald  Reece  came 
to  the  Forest  as  to  a  sanctuary,  his  highly  honour- 
able and  profitable  business  heretofore  having 
been  that  of  sheep-stealing  in  the  North  of  Eng- 
land. The  polite  archives  called  it  '  Bordering.' 
I  give  it  its  true  name,  and  bemoan  the  bad  taste 
of  my  predecessor  in  leaving  such  a  spirited  call- 
ing for  delving  in  the  earth." 

Mr.  Reece  rose  hurriedly.  He  hated  to  hear  of 
the  old  cattle-stealer.  Some  truths  are  so  un- 
pleasant they  may  as  well  be  buried  and  called 
dead.  The  young  people  followed  him  into  the 
garden. 


AN   EVENING   IN   DEAN,  29 


CHAPTER   III. 

AN    EVENING    IN    DEAN. 

THE  evening  was  delightful ;  for,  as  the  sun 
set,  a  breeze  sprang  up  and  lightly  winged 
its  way  from  Dean.  It  was  to  be  seen  in  the  trees 
fluttering  the  aspen  leaves,  and  swaying  the  grace- 
ful barley  which  climbed  the  rocks  from  the  field 
to  the  "  Lovers'  Walk."  Dick  was  making  a  posy 
of  barley  and  crimson  poppies.  He  had  artistic 
instincts  :  he  loved  all  that  was  pleasant  in  life. 
The  debonair  avoided  with  singular  acuteness 
every  approach  that  was  hostile  to  life's  pleasures. 
In  that  respect,  he  was  his  father's  son. 

Dr.  Herly  strolled  with  Rhoda  down  the  Lovers' 
Walk,  whence  the  sun  could  be  seen  setting  in 
glorious  vision  of  purple  and  gold.  They  talked 
sometimes,  Rhoda  skilfully  keeping  to  some  care- 
less topic.  Fun  and  laughter  amused  her :  talk 
about  books  wearied  her ;  and  Dr.  Herly  exasper- 
ated her  by  not  caring  one  whit  for  her  beauty, 
but  by  taking  her  from  a  standpoint  beyond  her 
comprehension.  At  length  they  came  to  the 
"  Moss  Cottage  "  at  the  end  of  the  Lovers'  Walk. 
Rhoda  sat  on  the  rocky  wall  near  by  to  watch  the 


3O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

sunset.  She  was  untouched  in  soul  by  the  beau- 
tiful sight,  her  nature  gathered  nothing  from  the 
spiritual  significance  of  the  world  which  sur- 
rounded her.  Those  hardy  old  trees  which  shel- 
tered the  Lovers'  Walk  from  observation  might 
have  become  her  friends,  and  have  spoken  many 
lessons  to  her  soul  from  out  their  deep  experience ; 
but,  no !  never  to  her.  She  lived  in  the  world 
which  shuns  an  experience,  —  amongst  those  souls 
which  never  awake  because  they  refuse  to  suffer. 

Reginald  came  down  the  avenue,  his  shoulders 
shrugged  up  to  his  ears,  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
and  his  teeth  set  tightly  together,  as  was  his  cus- 
tom when  at  war  with  the  world  ;  his  cheerful 
humour  had  left  him.  He  had  just  said  some  sar- 
castic words  to  the  old  gentlemen,  who  were  much 
at  a  loss  for  good  advice  about  the  purchase  of  the 
Swale  colliery.  Reginald  contrived  to  let  them 
know  that  he  thought  them  behind  the  times, 
which  required  speculation  and  push  ;  and,  finding 
them  still  cautious,  left  them  with  a  laugh  that 
was  a  sneer.  He  was  now  plunged  in  an  abyss  of 
unpleasant  thoughts.  He  was  wroth  with  fate, 
which  held  out  two  good  things  to  him,  of  which 
he  was  bound  to  choose  but  one.  He  was  wroth 
with  the  insane  stupidity  of  his  heart,  which, 
though  it  beat  feebly  enough  in  comparison  with 
that  of  many  a  deeper  nature,  appeared  to  pulsate 
merely  to  annoy  him  by  positive  uneasiness.  He 
who  had  lived  for  pleasure  had  now  begun  to  find 


AN    EVENING    IN    DEAN.  3! 

that  oft  the  sweet  is  encompassed  by  the  bitter. 
He  held  in  his  heart  antagonistic  desires :  he 
wished  to  possess  every  good  without  paying  the 
price  of  possession.  He  wanted  a  prize.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  that  to  win  it  he  must  be  worthy. 

"  It  was  a  strangely  tranquil  age  which  saw  the 
planting  of  these  trees,"  said  Dr.  Herly,  pointing 
to  the  pines  which  made  the  twilight  dusk  in  the 
alley. 

"  No  one  would  be  crazy  enough  to  lay  out  a 
garden  like  this  in  these  days,"  said  Reginald, 
with  a  short  laugh.  "  People  want  to  view  results 
during  their  own  lives.  By  my  faith,  I  believe  the 
old  Borderer  had  a  heart,  and  planted  these  trees 
for  the  benefit  of  the  love-making  of  his  descend- 
ants." 

"  Margaret  Drew  would  not  come  here  at  this 
hour,"  laughed  Rhoda. 

"  She  was  always  timid  in  shadowy  places,"  ob- 
served Dr.  Herly,  as  though  speaking  to  himself. 

"  What !  you  know  her  ?  How  strange  !  She 
has  often  heard  me  mention  your  name,  but  she 
did  not  tell  me  she  knew  you." 

"  Remarkable  reticence,"  replied  the  doctor, 
raising  his  eyebrows ;  but  the  twilight  hid  a  sud- 
den contraction  of  the  lips  that  bespoke  pain. 

"  You  will  see  her  soon,  for  she  came  last  week 
to  live  with  her  brother.  We  find  her  sttc/i  an  ac- 
quisition, she  is  so  bright  and  merry  and  sarcastic. 
But  some  people  call  her  fast  because  she  hunts 
and  shoots." 


32  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"Why  should  she  not?"  asked  Reginald.  "I 
am  tired  of  'goody,  goody'  people."  He  spoke  as 
if  renewing  some  argument  with  himself,  and  re- 
sumed :  "  Margaret  is  rich,  and  an  aristocrat  of 
aristocrats.  She  has  nothing  to  do  but  amuse 
herself,  and  you  must  grant  that  the  Forest  is  a 
dead-alive  place." 

"  I  do  not  grant  your  apologies,"  said  Dr.  Herly. 
"  No  woman  lives  with  no  duty  but  self-amuse- 
ment. The  Forest  is  a  large  field  for  willing 
workers." 

"The  poor  are  well  enough  off,"  said  Rhoda, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  If  they  are  not,  it  is 
their  own  fault." 

"You  think  so,  Miss  Rhoda?  I  would  you 
could  accompany  me  to  some  of  the  homes  I  know 
where  there  is  positive  want.  Neither  farm  labor- 
ers nor  colliers  are  adequately  paid  for  their  work." 

"  I  tell  you  what  the  end  of  it  will  be,"  said 
William,  who  had  joined  them  a  little  time  before. 
"  No  end  of  trouble,  strikes,  and  want  of  confi- 
dence between  men  and  employers." 

"  You  always  side  with  the  men,"  said  Reginald, 
with  a  chuckle  of  amusement.  "  Self-interest  is 
more  in  my  line." 

"  One  must  be  just  and  honorable,"  said  Wil- 
liam. "  In  the  end,  too,  you  serve  your  own  inter- 
est by  keeping  the  confidence  of  your  men." 

Dick  and  Milly  came  racing  from  the  barley 
field. 


AN    EVENING    IN    DEAN.  33 

"The  sun  has  set,  and  William  has  composed 
some  music  for  us.  Come  and  play,"  cried  Dick. 

"  Delightful !  "  said  Rhoda.  "  Run  on  and  ar- 
range every  thing,  Dick." 

"I  must  go  too,"  said  William.  He  went  on. 
The  others  followed  slowly. 

"  It  is  a  pity  for  Mr.  De  Clifford  to  oppose  Wil- 
liam so  strongly  in  his  choice  of  music  as  a  pro- 
fession," said  Dr.  Herly  gravely. 

"  I  heard  him  tell  Will  the  other  day  *  it  was  a 
temptation  of  the  devil,  and  that  he  ought  to  flee 
from  it.'  'To  drink?'  said  Will.  Uncle  looked 
frightened,  for  Will  turned  on  his  heel  and  went 
straight  down  to  the  village  inn."  Reginald  told 
the  story  with  a  laugh,  as  if  it  were  an  amusing 
episode. 

"  And  Marta  ? "  asked  Dr.  Herly. 

"  Marta  is  a  slave  to  his  caprices,"  said  he  im- 
patiently. "  She  makes  herself  miserable  over  his 
failings." 

"Make  haste,"  called  William.  "The  light  is 
going." 

Every  thing  was  ready  for  the  impromptu  con- 
cert. William  stood  fondling  his  violin.  Dick 
had  a  natural  faculty  for  the  making  of  music,  and 
played  second  violin  to  perfection ;  and  Reginald 
sat  down  to  his  violincello.  The  old  gentlemen 
sat  in  the  porch  amidst  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke. 
Mrs.  Reece  strolled  about,  watering  her  plants, 
and  tying  up  sweet-peas  near  by.  All  was  peace- 
ful and  pleasant,  but  twilight  was  falling. 


34  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

William  began  to  play  an  air  so  sprightly  that 
Dick  and  Milly  danced  lightly  over  the  lawn ;  then 
the  second  violin  joined  in  harmony ;  lastly,  the 
deep-voiced  "'cello"  broke  with  thrills  upon  the 
air,  and  the  refrain  became  deep,  solemn,  slow. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ? "  asked  William,  when  it  was 
finished. 

"Yes,"  said  Rhoda ;  "only  I  wish  you  could 
keep  in  the  same  mood  for  half  an  hour  together. 
Play  that  melody  again.  You  will  set  the  very 
fairies  dancing ;  but  such  a  mournful  finale !  I 
like  consistency,  even  in  music." 

"  Sing  something,"  cried  the  old  men,  who  ab- 
horred instrumental  music  as  something  uncanny, 
unholy.  Rhoda  readily  began  to  sing  a  round. 
William's  tenor,  rich  and  faultless,  took  it  up ; 
Reginald  made  a  third.  Dr.  Herly  joined  at 
times,  putting  each  part  out  which  he  undertook 
to  help. 

"  You  seem  to  sing  like  the  birds,  spontane- 
ously," he  said  at  length,  when  the  twilight  had 
blended  into  dusk,  and  the  western  sky  had  lost 
its  glow. 

"Singing  and  music  are  born  in  us,"  said  Regi- 
nald. "Dick  has  taught  himself  all  he  knows. 
Music  comes  to  us :  it  gives  us  no  trouble." 

The  curfew  was  heard  tolling  in  the  town,  foi 
the  custom  had  not  died  in  the  West  County. 

"  It  is  time  for  prayers,"  said  Mr.  Reece.  The 
solemn  tolling  of  the  bell  ceased,  there  was  a  stir 


AN    EVENING    IN    DEAN.  35 

in  the  trees,  —  an  answer  sent  from  the  depths  of 
the  life  in  Dean.  The  wind  passed  :  all  was  still. 
Mr.  Reece  seated  himself  in  an  enormous  arm- 
chair. On  the  table  before  him  lay  a  Bible,  whose 
long  j's  were  perpetual  pitfalls  to  Dick  and  Milly, 
who  stood  one  on  each  side  of  their  father,  and 
read  the  chapter  verse  by  verse.  The  servants 
filed  into  the  hall.  Dr.  Herly  was  an  interested 
spectator.  It  seemed  natural  for  religion  to  grow 
out  of  such  still,  beautiful  surroundings.  He 
forgot  that  the  spiritual  understanding  is  secondary 
to  the  religious  impulse. 

The  evening  hymn  was  sung.  The  old  folks, 
without  ceremony,  locked  the  back-door  and  went 
to  bed.  Late  hours  depend  on  light,  candles  only 
show  how  great  the  darkness  is  ;  work  or  reading 
became  laborious,  and,  when  tired  of  talking  to 
amuse  one  another,  the  young  people  also  retired 
to  rest. 

William  went  to  the  stable-yard  to  see  if  old 
Thomas  had  had  the  grace  to  saddle  his  horse. 
Reginald  was  there,  and,  to  William's  surprise, 
was  saddling  his  beautiful  hunter. 

"  I  baint  a-goin'  to  saddle  no  'orses  to-night," 
growled  old  Thomas,  whose  actions  no  one  ever 
thought  of  controlling.  He  had  lived  all  his  life 
on  the  place,  and  intended  to  do  so  to  the  end.  So 
he  ruled  the  roost  in  the  farmyard,  varying  the 
amusement  by  beating  Silvie  his  wife. 

"I  am  going  to  ride  home  with  you,  Will.     I 


36  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

hate  to  spend  a  day  in  the  pits,  the  air  was  so  bad 
in  that  level.  Upon  my  word,  Will,  if  Herly  had 
gone  a  step  farther,  when  you  caught  hold  of  him, 
he  would  have  been  a  dead  man." 

"My  candle  went  out.  The  place  is  full  of 
choke-damp." 

"Choke-damp!"  cried  Reginald.  '"I  cannot  get 
rid  of  the  fusty  smell.  Away  for  a  mad  scamper, 
over  rock,  over  fell  " 

"  Come  then,  said  William.  "  Psyche  will  keep 
pace  with  you." 

But  the  precipitous  hill  made  it  necessary  for 
them  to  lead  their  horses  to  the  bottom,  or  be 
thrown  over  the  hedge,  for  it  was  little  better  than 
a  cliff  path  which  led  to  the  valley.  Presently 
William  laid  a  gentle  hand  on  his  cousin's  shoulder. 

"You  are  engineer  enough  to  know  that  the 
gaveller's  report  is  a  careless  one,  and  that  what 
I  say  of  the  risk  of  water  breaking  in  fearfully 
true.  How  can  you  counsel  the  purchase  of  that 
colliery  ? " 

"  I  look  on  it  as  a  gigantic  speculation,"  said 
Reginald.  "  I  want  to  make  my  fortune.  If  the 
water  does  not  break  in  our  fortunes  are  made,  as 
we  shall  turn  over  the  purchase-money  very  soon, 
drawing  on  such  splendid  seams  of  coal.  But  if  it 
should  "  — 

"  You  will  be  ruined,"  said  William  quietly. 
"  The  risk  is  doubled  by  the  possibility  that  Wye 
will  be  flooded  as  usual  in  the  spring.  You  know 


AN    EVENING    IN    DEAN.  37 

the  consequences  well.  We  shall  have  hard  work 
to  keep  the  water  from  that  flooding  pumped  out, 
and  there  is  a  regular  river  rushing  through  that 
one  level  that  will  rise  and  cause  great  damage. 
Gamble  with  money  if  you  will ;  but  with  the  lives 
of  men  at  stake  "  — 

"  William,  my  son,"  said  Reginald  between  his 
teeth,  "thy  genius  lies  not  in  moralizing.  Look 
to  thyself,  and  pluck  out  the  mote  from  thy  clear- 
sighted eye." 

William  colored.  He  was  very  sensitive,  and 
Dr.  Herly's  warning  recurred  to  his  mind.  He  felt 
powerless  to  keep  from  excess,  when  measured  by 
such  a  standard.  He  knew  his  weakness  of  char- 
acter, and  mourned  over  it,  without  exerting  self- 
control  which  alone  could  supply  what  was  lacking. 
Circumstances  were  against  him ;  he  saw  Reginald 
mix  with  the  wildest  youths  in  the  county,  and 
never  yield  an  atom  of  his  sobriety  to  their  influ- 
ence. Mr.  Reece  sat  all  day  long  in  the  bar-room 
at  the  Angel  Inn  on  market  days,  seeing  friends 
and  even  customers,  always  drinking  what  popu- 
lar opinion  in  those  days  considered  very  moderately. 
Why  should  William  deny  himelf  society  which 
exhilarated  him,  when  his  uncle,  a  deacon  of  the 
church,  saw  no  harm  in  spending  hours  at  the  inn  ? 
Why  should  he  become  temperate  when  all  around 
him  were  self-indulgent  ?  Buried  in  melancholy 
thoughts,  he  hardly  noted  how  fleetly  his  horse 
distanced  the  hunter  over  the  heavy  ground. 


14433:) 


38  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

Reginald,  also  buried  in  thought,  rode  on  furiously  : 
neither  drew  rein  until  Heaven's  Gate  appeared 
in  view.  There  it  stood,  the  night  shrouding  it  in 
intense  stillness,  a  soft  murmur  of  sound  rustling 
amid  the  woods  behind.  The  door  in  the  garden- 
wall  stood  open,  a  figure,  still  and  beautiful,  stood 
with  wistful  eyes  upon  the  road  that  led  from 
Dean.  It  was  Marta,  the  quiet  of  the  summer 
evening  in  her  soul,  her  white  dress  catching  all 
the  light  from  around. 

"  Marta,  my  saint,"  said  Reginald  to  himself,  as 
he  threw  himself  off  his  horse  at  her  feet.  But 
the  glad  shining  of  those  blue  eyes  was  not  for 
him ;  and  William  came,  up,  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her.  This  done,  he  led  Psyche  to  her 
stable.  He  was  at  peace  again ;  Marta  was  near. 
The  mere  fact  that  her  strength  was  at  his  service 
made  him  feel  strong  in  himself.  He  hardly 
realized  how  strong  an  influence  she  exerted  over 
him  ;  he  often  resisted  temptation  for  her  sake 
and  came  home  early,  because  he  knew  she  would 
be  waiting  at  the  gate  for  him. 

Marta  had  lost  her  own  parents  in  her  baby- 
hood, and  the  De  Cliffords  of  Heaven's  Gate  had 
adopted  her  as  their  own  child ;  she  more  often 
addressed  them  as  mother  and  father  than  aunt 
and  uncle.  A  few  years  since  Mrs.  De  Clifford 
died,  she  left  William  in  Marta's  charge.  Marta 
accepted  it  as  her  life's  work.  William,  always 
William,  was  first  in  her  heart  and  in  her  thoughts. 


AN    EVENING    IN    DEAN.  39 

"I  thought  I  would  ride  home  with  him,"  said 
Reginald  carelessly. 

"  How  good  you  are,"  said  Marta  gratefully. 
She  believed  he  had  taken  this  long  ride  in  order 
to  bring  William  safely  past  the  attractions  of  the 

Angel  Inn  at  Y ,  where  the  young  men  were 

always  on  the  lookout  for  him.  That  she  enter- 
tained such  an  idea  never  occurred  to  Reginald, 
simply  because  any  desire  of  the  kind  could  have 
no  place  in  his  head  or  heart. 

"  You  are  coming  up  to  spend  some  time  with 
us  soon  ? "  he  asked,  with  approval  of  Marta's 
bearing  in  his  tone. 

"  If  I  can  be  spared,"  said  she,  with  a  little 
tremble  in  her  voice. 

"  Who  wants  you  so  much  as  we  do  ? "  he  asked 
tenderly. 

"William.     You  know  what  aunt  Cathy  is." 

"William  must  learn  to  do  without  you,"  said 
Reginald  abruptly.  "  He  has  no  claim  on  you 
whatever." 

"  Because  I  am  Flamande  ? "  she  said,  softly. 
"You  forget  that  his  mother  adopted  me.  Wil- 
liam has  more  claim  on  my  good  offices  than  if  I 
were  in  reality  the  sister  I  try  to  be." 

"  While  you  stay  with  us  I  shall  convince  you 
of  the  falsity  of  your  premises,  and  lead  you  to 
see  things  with  my  eyes,"  said  Reginald,  springing 
upon  his  horse.  "Farewell,  St.  Marthe." 

"What   can   make   him    ride  so  fast,"  thought 


4O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

Marta,  as  the  flying  hoofs  of  the  hunter  made  the 
echoes  ring  long  after  Reginald  was  out  of  sight. 
She  locked  the  garden-door,  and  softly  paced 
under  the  dark  laurels  until  the  veranda  was 
reached.  A  bright  light  streamed  from  the  hall. 
Aunt  Cathy  stood  there,  candle  in  hand,  peering 
out. 

"  Is  that  fiddling  William  home  ?  "  she  inquired, 
in  her  loudest  whisper.  "  I  suppose  he  has  stopped 
at  the  Angel  with  some  boon  companions." 

"He  is  home,"  said  Marta  sternly;  "and  it  is 
only  half-past  nine.  It  is  not  time  to  lock  up." 

Aunt  Cathy  looked  like  vinegar.  She  dropped 
first  her  scissors,  then  her  wool,  then  some  socks 
she  had  been  darning.  When  Marta  had  found 
these  things  for  her,  she  went  up-stairs  grumbling. 


PURCHASE   OF   THE   COLLIERY.  4! 


CHAPTER   IV. 

PURCHASE  OF  THE  COLLIERY  IS  DECIDED  UPON. 

MR.  ROLLS  returned  to  the  inn  the  follow- 
ing day,  and  with  little  delay  presented 
himself  in  Mr.  Hughes'  office. 

"  Oh !  by  the  way,"  he  said,  "  the  purchase  is 
decided  upon." 

"  /  have  not  consented,"  said  Mr.  Hughes,  col- 
ouring angrily. 

"But  you  will,  my  dear  fellow,  you  will,"  said 
Mr.  Rolls,  with  a  keen  look.  Mr.  Hughes  did  not 
reply,  he  remained  buried  in  thought. 

"  It  is  a  great  speculation,"  he  said  at  length. 
His  eyes  for  once  betrayed  him,  and  gave  forth  a 
look  to  the  full  as  greedy  of  riches  as  the  shrewd 
eyes  they  encountered. 

"It  is  an  age  of  speculation,"  said  Mr.  Rolls. 
"  I  dare  say  in  my  business  days  I  might  have  been 
eager  to  close  such  an  advantageous  purchase ;  but, 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  what  are  a  few  thou- 
sands more  or  less  ? " 

"Less  means  workhouse  fare,"  chuckled  Mr. 
Hughes  ;  "  for  if  we  lose,  your  private  fortune  will 
be  called  upon  to  pay  arrears,  by  rule,  or  rather  law 


42  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

of  our  partnership.  I  repeat,  Mr.  Rolls,  it  is  a 
speculation,  and  by  no  means  a  safe  one  at  that. 
William  came  in  just  now  and  gave  me  an  un- 
favorable report  of  the  mine.  I  am  more  than 
willing  to  abide  by  his  opinion,  for  I  consider  him 
the  best  mining  engineer  in  the  Forest." 

"  Well,  well !  but  we  have  the  written  report  of 
the  gaveller.  My  dear  friend,  there  are  two  sides 
to  every  question." 

"The  gaveller  is  drunk  half  his  time,  and,  I 
dare  swear,  could  not  see  straight  the  day  he  went 
down  to  examine  the  pit.  So  much  for  him. 
The  risk  is  ten  to  one,  but  I  grant  you  if"  — 

"  If  the  water  could  be  kept  out,"  put  in  Mr. 
Rolls. 

"  Our  fortunes  are  made.  But  you  do  not  real- 
ize the  terrible  doubt  that  'if  implies." 

"  But  you  will  consent  to  the  purchase  ? "  sug- 
gested Mr.  Rolls. 

"  I  will  answer  later.  We  are  slow  people  here, 
and  take  time  to  think." 

"  We  shall  want  additional  assistance.  My  son 
Percy  has  married  and  lost  his  situation  simulta- 
neously. I'll  send  him  up  as  chief  clerk  of  the 
new  colliery.  Mr.  De  Clifford  wants  to  put  Wil- 
liam in,  but  he  is  too  unsteady." 

"No,  sir;  not  at  all,  sir!"  cried  Mr.  Hughes, 
who  loved  the  lad,  and  knew  his  fine  parts. 

"Too  unsteady  to  entrust  with  so  many  lives 
under  his  control,"  Mr.  Rolls  whined,  with  a  dis- 
mal shake  of  his  head. 


PURCHASE    OF    THE    COLLIERY.  43 

"  A  place  of  trust  would  steady  him,"  said  Mr. 
Hughes.  "/  shall  want  a  clerk.  I  should  like 
to  have  William." 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  fellow,  but  I  have  promised  Mr. 
Reece  to  send  up  my  son  Owen,  good  steady  lad, 
to  take  that  very  place." 

Mr.  Hughes  was  indignant ;  for  Mr.  Rolls,  who 
had  an  unlimited  supply  of  sons,  had  been  unfair 
enough  to  give  them  the  best  places  in  the  busi- 
ness. Mr.  Reece,  with  a  great  effort,  had  estab- 
lished Reginald  in  the  firm ;  but  Mr.  De  Clifford, 
after  one  refusal,  was  too  proud  to  insist :  so, 
though  William's  services  were  always  in  demand, 
he  had  no  settled  position. 

Mr.  Hughes  made  no  effort ;  he  gave  each  of 
his  sons  a  handsome  start  in  life  and  his  blessing. 
The  latter  gift  was  by  no  means  superlative ;  his 
sons  had  the  acuteness  to  translate  its  meaning 
into  rough  and  ready  words ;  not  one  would  have 
dared  to  squander  his  portion,  and  return  to  his 
father  for  a  further  supply.  De  Clifford,  Reece 
&  Co.  might  fail  to-morrow,  without  affecting  the 
welfare  of  those  sons  one  whit. 

The  half-yearly  meeting  of  the  partners  was 
called,  and  held  as  usual  in  an  office  attached  to 
the  house  at  Heaven's  Gate. 

Reginald  drove  his  father  over  from  the  Forest, 
Mr.  Rolls  strolled  up  from  the  inn,  and  Mr. 
Hughes^appeared  with  the  books  for  examination. 
The  office-door  was  shut ;  the  old  gentlemen  sat  in 


44  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

easy-chairs,  smoking ;  the  air  became  dense  with 
the  fumes  of  tobacco.  A  few  words  were  said  on 
business,  and  Thomas  Hughes  read  his  report, 
showing  the  advance  in  prices  and  prosperous  con- 
dition of  the  firm.  He  then  with  alacrity  opened 
the  books,  and  offered  them  for  inspection.  The 
lazy  old  gentlemen,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Rolls,  wrote  the  words,  "  examined  and  found  cor- 
rect," on  the  page,  signing  their  names  in  full, 
though  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  contents.  This 
was  their  routine ;  as  men  of  honor,  they  could 
not  doubt  the  probity  of  their  saintly  friend 
Thomas  Hughes. 

This  business  farce  concluded,  the  subject  of 
the  new  colliery  was  eagerly  discussed.  Mr.  Rolls 
was  not  too  much  engrossed  to  perceive  beads  of 
perspiration  standing  on  Thomas  Hughes'  fore- 
head as  he  hurriedly  closed  the  books  and  tied 
them  up  again.  His  voice,  husky,  as  usual,  was 
heard  cautiously  advancing  the  opinion  that  the 
seven  thousand  pounds  purchase  money  would 
only  be  the  beginning  of  continual  demands  for 
ready  money.  A  large  engine  would  be  required 
to  pump  the  water  night  and  day  out  of  the  pit. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  the  coal  proved  to  be  as 
good  as  William  reported  (and  he  knew  of  no  bet- 
ter authority),  a  year's  work  would  repay  much  of 
the  money  paid  out.  Mr.  Rolls,  clever  and  keen 
though  he  was,  could  not  discover  if  Hughes  was 
in  favor  of  the  speculation,  or  the  reverse.  The 


PURCHASE    OF    THE    COLLIERY.  45 

matter  was  stated  with  business-like  ability,  but 
with  a  modesty  which  removed  all  responsibility 
from  his  shoulders.  The  other  partners  fell  into 
the  trap  laid  for  them,  spoke  of  their  age  and  ex- 
perience, and  assured  Thomas  Hughes  he  had 
much  yet  to  learn  about  the  Forest  collieries. 
The  purchase  was  decided  upon,  the  old  men 
relapsed  into  quietude,  and  Thomas  proceeded  to 
amuse  them  by  his  flow  of  anecdote.  He  was 
clever,  eloquent,  witty  ;  they  shook  with  laughter, 
their  pipes  went  out,  they  neglected  their  cider 
cups,  as  they  listened  breathlessly  to  this  wonder- 
ful narrator. 

Reginald  had  been  offensively  rude  in  rejecting 
Thomas  Hughes'  scruples  with  regard  to  the  new 
purchase  ;  and,  now  that  affairs  had  been  arranged 
according  to  his  wishes,  he  abruptly  left  the  office. 
He  walked  to  the  drawing-room  window  and  leaned 
on  the  sill,  looking  for  Marta.  William  was  busy 
with  a  new  song  of  his  own  composition ;  yet,  with 
his  usual  grace  of  manner,  left  his  work,  vaulted 
through  the  window  into  the  garden,  and  pointed 
out  Marta  with  the  children  far  away  in  the  fields 
by  the  old  Roman  wall,  one  of  the  park  bounda- 
ries. Reginald  hastened  to  join  them,  arriving  in 
time  to  help  them  mount  the  huge  stones  and 
spring  on  to  the  soft  turf  of  the  park. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  old  Roman  encampment," 
said  Marta.  "  I  am  glad  you  are  come,  for  we  are 
afraid  of  the  deer.  The  keeper  sent  to  tell  us  to 
be  careful." 


46  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

They  were  ascending  a  miniature  mountain,  be- 
yond which  was  a  valley,  where  babbled  a  clear 
brook.  It  was  densely  wooded,  the  park  trees  — 
its  elms  and  oaks,  chestnut  and  beeches,  hollies, 
pines,  and  yews  —  being  the  pride  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

"  I  hope  to  meet  Minnie  Selwyn  at  the  encamp- 
ment," said  Marta.  "  We  want  to  sketch  a  little 
together." 

"  You  are  bosom  friends  still,  I  suppose,"  said 
her  cousin. 

"  We  are  friends,"  said  Marta  simply.  "  Minnie 
has  other  pursuits  and  occupations  when  she  is  in 
town.  We  seldom  write,  but  wait  until  her  return 
permits  us  to  be  together  as  much  as  possible." 

"  You  are  talking  in  an  unknown  tongue  to  me," 
said  Reginald  lightly.  I  like  to  form  a  friend- 
ship and  drop  it  again  when  convenient  to  do 
so." 

"  Now  you  are  talking  in  an  unknown  tongue," 
said  Marta,  opening  her  eyes  with  simple  wonder. 
"  But  I  know  you  are  in  fun." 

"  I  am  in  earnest,  I  assure  you.  When  people 
get  dismal  or  disagreeable,  I  like  to  drop  them." 

"  No  one  for  a  moment  doubts  that  Mr.  Reginald 
is  a  fair-weather  friend,"  said  a  voice  which  keenly 
emphasized  the  adjective;  and  Minnie  Selwyn, 
pushing  aside  some  leafy  branches,  stood  before 
them.  "  If  people  will  talk  in  such  loud  tones," 
she  continued,  "  it  must  happen  that  their  remarks 


PURCHASE    OF    THE    COLLIERY.  47 

will  be  overheard.  Crawford,  wake  up  :  here  is 
Marta." 

A  huge  man  rose  from  a  comfortable  doze  at  the 
foot  of  an  oak,  and  smiled  in  a  friendly  manner  as 
he  crushed  Marta's  hand  in  his  immense  palm. 

"  You  have  begun  your  sketch,"  said  Marta. 

"  Yes ;  I  should  have  done  more,  but  Crawford 
is  so  hard  to  amuse.  He  is  excessively  tiresome 
on  warm  afternoons." 

Crawford  accepted  the  imputation  with  bland 
gratification,  he  was  used  to  the  caustic  fire  of  his 
little  cousin's  tongue.  He  had  been  her  humble 
slave  since  boyhood,  always  ready  to  receive  and 
execute  her  orders  ;  now,  on  his  return  from  a 
voyage  round  the  world,  he  had  resumed  the  habit, 
and  the  cousins  were  as  inseparable  as  they  had 
been  in  their  childish  days. 

Olga  and  Jennie  ran  down  to  play  with  the 
ripples  of  the  brook.  They  made  a  pretty  picture 
lying  on  the  turf,  their  broad  hats  thrown  care- 
lessly aside,  the  sun  lighting  up  their  white  dresses, 
and  flashing  gold  on  Jennie's  yellow  hair. 

"We  must  not  leave  them  at  the  brook,"  said 
Minnie.  "  The  deer  are  dangerous :  they  must 
keep  with  us.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  Crawford 
saved  me  years  ago  from  being  gored  by  a  stag  ? " 

"  I  remember  quite  well,"  said  Marta.  "  He 
lifted  you  up  to  an  oak  bough,  and  then  climbed 
the  tree  and  lifted  you  still  higher,  while  the 
nurses  screamed  and  ran." 


48  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"That  was  a  quick-witted  action,"  said  Reginald, 
glancing  with  surprise  at  the  heavy-looking  Craw- 
ford, whose  renown  for  prodigious  strength  and 
staying  power  were  hardly  in  keeping  with  quick 
wit,  and  who  did  not  look  capable  of  making  a 
quick  movement,  mentally  or  physically. 

"  He  is  always  so  calm  in  any  danger,"  said 
Minnie  aside  to  Marta.  "  He  always  does  the 
right  thing  at  the  right  moment." 

"  I  have  often  noticed  that,"  said  Marta.  "  Oh, 
look ! " 

A  herd  of  deer  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
still  as  statues,  their  heads  raised  and  antlers 
thrown  back.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight ;  but 
startled  at  the  strangers,  they  flew  down  the  hill- 
side, sped  lightly  over  the  brook,  and  disappeared 
in  the  dense  shadows  of  the  beeches. 

"  It  is  like  a  dream,"  said  Olga,  shyly,  to  Craw- 
ford. 

"  I  never  dream,"  he  replied  seriously. 

A  few  more  steps  brought  them  to  the  Roman 
encampment.  The  ladies  sat  down  to  sketch. 

"  I  have  been  helping  papa  this  morning,"  said 
Minnie.  "As  usual,  he  is  trying  to  improve  the 
cottages  on  the  estate ;  but  it  is  so  hard  to  con. 
vince  their  owners  that  there  is  need  of  improve- 
ment in  their  way  of  living.  Sometimes  I  can 
influence  some  of  the  younger  women,  but  the 
middle-aged  or  old  are  beyond  me." 

"  They  have  found  by  experience  that  one  room 


PURCHASE    OF    THE    COLLIERY.  49 

is  sufficient  for  sleeping,  cooking,  and  washing  pur- 
poses. Why,  then,  require  them  to  use  a  wash- 
house  and  pantry  ?  You  introduce  them  to  luxuries 
which  they  do  not  know  how  to  use,"  said  Regi- 
nald lightly. 

"  Must  we  accept  their  ignorance  of  comfort  for 
the  best  condition  in  which  they  can  live  ? "  asked 
Minnie  earnestly.  "Why  does  the  public  house 
attract  the  poor  man  ?  A  little  observation  shows 
that  the  cheerfulness,  the  bright  fire,  the  clean 
hearth,  the  comfortable  settle  form  the  charm. 
When  home  means  only  dirt,  confusion,  and  an 
untidy,  scolding  wife,  I  am  not  surprised  a  man 
prefers  the  public." 

"A  strong  picture,"  said  Reginald  still  lightly. 
"  Overdrawn,  of  course,  as  enthusiasts  are  obliged 
to  do  to  gain  their  ends,  or  their  own  belief  in 
their  subject.  It  seems  to  me  you  work  very 
hard  for  the  good  of  a  thoroughly  ungrateful 
people." 

"  Ignorant,  not  ungrateful,"  said  Crawford 
slowly.  "  Minnie  is  right :  she  will  make  a  good 
landlord." 

Here  he  relapsed  into  silence.  Minnie  continued 
frankly,  — 

"  The  bent  of  my  mind  turns  rather  upon  prac- 
tical work  than  the  artificial  life  imposed  by  Lon- 
don society,  and  my  father  honors  me  by  making 
me  his  companion." 

"He   believes   in  woman's  rights,  I  suppose," 


5O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

said  Reginald,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  in- 
dicative of  his  own  intense  dislike  of  the  theme. 
He  could  not  understand  why  Minnie  should  work 
for  the  poor,  unless  she  desired  notoriety.  Miss 
Selwyn's  capacity  for  grasping  business  details, 
her  ability  in  drawing  plans  for  model  cottages, 
gave  those  who  did  not  know  her  the  chance  of 
calling  her  "strong-minded."  Reginald  was  al- 
ready prejudiced  against  her.  He  glanced  from 
her  bright,  eager  face  to  Marta.  Here  he  felt  at 
home,  confident  that  no  original  idea  ever  had  or 
could  emanate  from  that  blonde  head.  He  looked 
at  her  with  increasing  favor :  here  was  the  placidity 
he  loved,  the  total  absence  of  an  enthusiasm.  He 
acknowledged  to  himself  that  this  atmosphere  of 
repose  in  which  she  dwelt  was  the  only  one  where 
he  could  feel  really  tranquil  and  happy. 

"  I  have  found  a  Roman  coin,"  said  Olga,  run- 
ning to  give  it  to  Minnie ;  for  she  knew  that  by 
courtesy  all  such  "  findings  "  belonged  to  the  lord 
of  the  manor,  even  if  found  outside  of  the  park 
boundaries. 

"  Pray  keep  it,"  said  Minnie.  "  Crawford  and  I 
have  found  many  on  this  hill." 

"  Have  you  not  two  old  Roman  gods  up  here  ?  " 
asked  Reginald.  "  I  want  to  see  them." 

"  I  will  show  you  where  they  stand,"  said  Min- 
nie, laying  her  sketch  on  Crawford's  knee. 

Marta  was  sketching  the  glimpse  of  the  valley 
which  could  be  seen  through  the  trees ;  she  drew 


PURCHASE    OF    THE    COLLIERY.  5  I 

with  ability,  but  without  great  talent.  Crawford 
roused  himself  to  be  entertaining,  and  gave  a 
spirited  account  of  a  recent  day's  trout--fishing  in 
the  park  brook. 

The  other  young  people  had  descended  the  hill 
on  the  western  side.  Here,  under  some  oaks  cen- 
turies old,  stood  two  roughly-hewn  figures  yclept 
"Adam  and  Eve"  by  the  village  folk,  "Priapus 
and  Flora  "  by  antiquarians. 

"  This  one  is  Priapus.  It  has  a  skin  thrown  over 
its  shoulder  on  which  the  hoof  of  a  deer  is  cleverly 
carved.  The  other  is  Flora.  Is  it  not  impossible 
to  realize  that  they  may  have  been  standing  here 
for  two  thousand  years  ? " 

"  The  Romans  did  not  value  their  gods  enough 
to  carry  them  home  with  them,"  laughed  Reginald. 

"  Oh  !  but  they  evidently  left  this  camp  at  a 
moment's  notice,"  said  Minnie.  "  We  have  a  fine 
collection  of  Roman  remains  which  were  unearthed 
last  year  at  this  encampment." 

"  I  was  sorry  I  was  not  in  the  Forest  at  the 
time,"  he  said.  "  I  wanted  to  see  the  villas  and 
baths.  Mr.  Selwyn  had  them  turfed  over  again, 
did  he  not  ? " 

"  Yes ;  it  was  the  only  means  of  preserving 
them,"  she  replied,  leading  the  way  back  to  the 
hill  again.  Crawford  was  just  landing  a  four- 
pounder  with  rod  and  line,  and  Marta  was  trying 
to  feel  interested  in  his  success,  when  the  others 
joined  them.  Marta  rose  then,  and  said  "it  was 
time  to  return  to  Heaven's  Gate." 


52  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Do  not  forget  to  come  early  to-morrow,"  said 
Minnie.  "  You  know  it  is  the  Women's  Fete" 

"What  is  this  fete?"  inquired  Reginald,  as 
they  walked  homewards. 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  annual  fete  given  to  the  village 
mothers.  It  is  great  fun." 

"  Extraordinary !  You  take  pleasure  in  such 
things." 

"  Ought  we  not  to  love  our  neighbors  ? "  asked 
Marta,  smiling. 

Reginald  was  of  opinion  that  kind  of  thing 
should  be  considered  as  pictorial.  One  did  not 
carry  it  into  practical  life. 


THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE."  53 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE." 

TAKE  the  path  across  the  common  amidst 
gorse  and  heather,  pause  when  you  reach  a 
clump  of  firs  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  then  look 
back,  —  only  the  upper  windows  of  Heaven's  Gate 
can  be  seen.  The  path  leads  on  down  a  precipi- 
tous old  quarry,  now  overgrown  with  ferns  and 
foxgloves  ;  underfoot,  the  wild  thyme  which  fills 
the  air  with  perfume.  Now  you  are  come  to  a 
double  avenue  of  oaks,  leading  at  one  time  to  a 
mansion  whose  owner,  in  a  dark  hour,  hanged  him- 
self on  one  of  these  grand  oaks ;  and  then,  being 
no  better  in  spirit  than  in  body,  haunted  his  old 
home  in  such  an  uncomfortable  manner  that  no 
one  would  consent  to  live  there,  and  it  fell  into 
decay.  Beyond  this  avenue,  another  steep  hill 
leads  down  to  the  village.  Apple-orchards  sur- 
round you.  The  fruit  is  hanging  ripe  and  rich  and 
golden  from  the  crooked,  gnarled  old  trees.  You 
look  down  upon  the  village  nestling  to  the  foot 
and  creeping  up  the  hill.  In  the  market-place  is 
a  Prie  Dieu, — a  beautiful  cross  of  gray  stone, — 
built  in  the  thirteenth  century  by  the  monks  of 


54  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

Tintern.  In  olden  days,  the  Virgin  stood  in  one 
of  the  niches ;  around  her,  saints  of  lesser  degree. 
When  Cromwell  marched  his  soldiers  through  the 
village,  the  cross  at  the  summit  was  torn  down,  the 
saints  were  broken  into  fragments ;  but  the  solid 
masonry  of  the  base  defied  destruction,  and  stands 
to  this  day.  Four  hundred  years  ago  the  monks 
journeyed  hither,  and,  the  old  legend  tells  us, 
stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Prie  Dieu  to  preach  to 
the  village  folk.  It  is  a  favorite  resort  now  for 
"ranters,"  or  itinerant  preachers;  many  a  fine 
evening  brings  a  congregation  to  the  foot  of  the 
cross.  Near  by  stand  the  almshouses,  —  tiny 
stone  cottages,  two-roomed,  —  in  which  the  worthy 
old  folks  can  live  out  a  happy  old  age.  They  are 
a  gift  to  the  village  from  some  noble  heart  which 
has  lain  in  God's  acre,  mere  dust,  for  nearly  four 
centuries.  The  date,  1490,  is  carved  over  the 
lintels.  To  each  cottage  belongs  a  small  garden 
in  which  the  old  folk  can  grow  "  taturs "  and 
"iniuns."  The  parish  doles  them  a  loaf  of  bread 
twice  a  week,  and  all  the  gentry  round  are  inter- 
ested in  their  behalf. 

Marta  has  passed  the  cross,  and  now  pauses  be- 
fore the  almshouses  where  the  old  people  are 
seated  on  stone  benches  at  their  doors.  She  can- 
not pass  without  a  few  words  to  each. 

"Well,  Miss  Marta,  you  be  a-lookin'  about  as 
ornary  as  ever." 

"  That  is  too  unkind,  grannie,"  says  Marta,  try- 


THE    WOMEN  S    "FETE.  55 

ing  to  treat  the  old  joke  which  she  has  heard  from 
childhood  as  a  novelty.  "  Are  not  you  coming  to 
the  park  ? " 

"  No,  /  hain't  a-goin'  to  no  parks,  /  hain't,"  says 
grannie,  whose  rheumatic  limbs  made  any  such  ex- 
ertion impossible. 

"  No  one  can  say  as  how  I  be  a  gad-about." 

"  Nor  me,  neither,"  says  old  Captain  Long. 

"  Well,  folks  did  say  as  how  you  'ad  no  business 
to  a  gone  to  Varmer  Pierce's  with  the  club  Whit- 
suntide. Some  on  'em  told  we  as  'ow  you  got  a 
drop  thicky  day."  To  get  "a  drop"  is  idiomatic  ; 
the  West  County  folk  never  use  the  word  "drunk." 

Marta  sees  that  they  are  interested  in  what 
promises  to  be  a  lively  quarrel,  so  she  goes  on  her 
way.  The  cottage  doors  all  stand  open,  but  not  a 
woman  is  to  be  seen.  The  men  stand  forlornly 
keeping  house,  —  some  idly  leaning  against  the 
lintel,  the  majority  nursing  the  babies,  and  swear- 
ing at  the  bad  behavior  of  the  older  children,  who, 
finding  out  quickly  the  weakness  of  their  father's 
unwonted  rule,  openly  perpetrate  mischief  for 
which  their  mothers  would  unmercifully  "whack" 
them.  The  fathers  have  had  to  leave  work  early 
in  order  to  mind  the  house,  for  this  is  the  Moth- 
er's Fete. 

For  the  mothers — advance. 

They  are  in  the  market-house,  talking  loud  and 
fast.  The  ladies  of  the  village,  with  Minnie  and 
Marta,  marshal  them  into  ranks  of  two  and  two. 


56  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

The  band  plays,  the  drum  is  incessant,  the  brass 
instruments  bray;  the  women  are  exhilarated,  such 
music  cannot  be  too  loud  or  too  constant.  The 
two  stoutest  women  in  the  village  bear  the  flag ; 
proud  honor  !  Stout  they  may  be,  but  active  when 
activity  is  needed,  comely  and  wholesome  looking. 
Less  happy  faces  meet  the  eye  within  the  ranks,  — 
many  of  those  forms  are  bent,  and  prematurely 
aged  by  over-work.  The  village  husband  is  mas- 
ter. He  can,  he  will,  he  does,  at  his  good  pleasure, 
beat  his  belongings,  be  they  wife,  dog,  or  child. 

The  band  plays  a  lively  march,  the  procession 
winds  along  the  road,  the  fathers  grin  from  the 
doorstep,  the  children  scream  and  try  to  keep  up 
with  their  mothers.  Soon  the  soft  turf  of  the 
park  replaces  the  hard,  dusty  road,  and  the  lawns 
are  reached,  where  the  tea-tables  are  comfortably 
enclosed  in  tents. 

The  women  are  seated  at  the  tables.  According 
to  rule,  each  mother  has  brought  her  own  cup ; 
and,  while  waiting  for  tea,  sits  elegantly,  in  a  criti- 
cal attitude  with  regard  to  the  cake.  Some  who 
starve  at  home  will  say  the  cake  has  too  much  trea- 
cle in  it,  and  is  not  fit  to  set  before  a  decent  per- 
son ;  others  will  complain  of  the  bread  and  butter, 
and  eat  it  wastefully,  to  show  they  are  used  to 
abundance.  They  throw  their  crusts  under  the 
table,  and,  with  an  expression  of  disgust,  pour  their 
tea  out  on  the  grass,  on  pretence  that  it  is  too 
weak  to  drink.  Such  hypercritical  remarks  must 


THE    WOMEN  S    "FETE.  57 

be  expected  by  those  who  would  bestow  a  favor  on 
the  village  poor.  With  it  all,  it  requires  little  ob- 
servation to  note  voracious  appetites  pertaining 
even  to  the  most  critical  of  the  dames.  Many  are 
skilful  in  purloining  cake  for  those  at  home,  repre- 
senting the  act  to  their  dull  souls  as  one  of  gen- 
erosity to  their  offspring,  not  akin  to  stealing. 
The  distinction  is  a  very  nice  one,  which  strangers 
fail  to  see. 

The  repast  is  finished.  The  mothers  lay  their 
shawls,  well  lined  with  cake,  in  a  corner  of  the 
tent,  and  are  free  to  wander  at  will  through  the 
beautiful  gardens  and  orchard  houses.  Meantime 
the  fathers  have  fought  through  the  effort  of  get- 
ting tea  and  putting  the  younger  children  to  bed, 
and  at  six  o'clock  repair  to  the  park  to  spend  the 
rest  of  the  day. 

The  ladies  went  into  the  mansion  for  tea.  Some 
strangers  were  inclined  to  be  vexed  at  the  ingrati- 
tude of  the  mothers  ;  but  Minnie  and  Marta  took 
it  all  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  were  neither  hurt 
nor  amused  by  it. 

Mr.  Selwyn  joined  in  the  discussion,  bringing 
Mr.  Fordyce,  the  new  vicar,  with  him  from  the 
centre  group  round  Mrs.  Selwyn. 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking  the  people  ungrateful," 
said  he ;  "  but,  as  a  new  comer,  I  am  at  a  disadvan- 
tage. I  am  trying  to  study  their  habits  without 
prejudice." 

"  The  ladies  here  think  us  prejudiced  in  their 


58  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

favor,"  said  Minnie.  "What  is  your  opinion  of 
them  as  a  class  ? " 

"I  fear  I  shall  offend  those  prejudices,"  said  he, 
smiling.  "  I  find  them  a  drunken,  ignorant,  obsti- 
nate set  of  people.  I  can  make  no  way  with 
them." 

"  That  is  a  hasty  judgement,"  said  Marta  calmly. 
"They  take  a  long  while  to  know." 

"The  men  are  brutes,"  he  continued.  "They 
beat  their  wives.  I  called  on  Dick  Williams  to-day 
just  as  he  was  beating  his  wife  with  the  poker.  I 
rushed  to  the  rescue,  and  wrenched  the  poker  from 
him.  To  my  surprise,  and  not  a  little  to  my  cha- 
grin, both  parties  turned  upon  me  with  blows  and 
abuse.  Mrs.  Williams  herself  inflicted  a  severe 
blow  on  my  head  which  slightly  stunned  me,  and 
when  I  recovered  abused  me  roundly  for  my  med- 
dlesome ways ;  while  Dick  sagely  counselled  me 
'never  to  meddle  between  a  man  and  his  wife.' " 

"Dick  has  just  returned  from  a  month's  work 
on  the  tread-mill ;  offence,  wife-beating,"  said  Mr. 
Selwyn,  who  was  a  magistrate. 

"Dick  hits  well  from  the  shoulder,"  said  Craw- 
ford. "  I  caught  him  poaching,  and  had  a  round 
with  him  once." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  laughed  Minnie.  "  Crawford 
dragged  him  home  as  if  he  had  been  a  bad  boy ; 
gave  him  his  supper,  and  let  him  go." 

"  Dick  Williams  would  follow  him  like  a  dog 
ever  since,"  remarked  Mr.  Selwyn.  "  Some  men 
are  morally  improved  by  being  beaten." 


THE    WOMEN  S    "  FETE.  59 

"It  does  not  appear  in  this  instance,"  replied 
Mr.  Fordyce.  "  I  felt  inclined  to  try  a  little 
'muscular  Christianity'  on  him  to-day." 

"Dick  would  have  adored  you  if  you  had  beaten 
him  in  a  fair  round,"  said  Crawford ;  "and  I  know 
you  could  have  done  it,"  with  a  glance  at  the  fine, 
muscular  figure  of  the  vicar.  Mr.  Fordyce  met 
his  eyes  with  a  quiet  smile.  He  and  Crawford 
were  friends  from  that  moment. 

"  I  wish  we  could  raise  the  people  to  a  higher 
level,"  said  Minnie.  "  All  our  efforts  seem  to  be 
so  futile." 

"  There  are  many  influences  at  work,"  said  the 
vicar.  "To  begin  with,  there  is  Jim  Bryan." 

"  The  ranter ! "  exclaimed  a  chorus  of  voices 
with  utter  disdain. 

"Jim  Bryan,  the  ranter.  I  assure  you,  that 
man  is  doing  a  good  work.  He  is  coarse,  un- 
lettered, uneducated  ;  but  he  is  in  earnest,  and  can 
teach  the  truth  as  it  is  revealed  to  him.  He 
reaches  people  whom  I  cannot  influence.  I  often 
listen  to  him  on  fine  evenings  when  he  preaches 
standing  on  the  steps  of  the  cross.  He  speaks 
entirely  in  the  dialect.  His  power  to  awaken 
hearts  is  undeniable." 

"There  is  no  need  of  these  fellows  with  a  church 
in  the  village,"  said  Mr.  Selwyn,  who  liked  relig- 
ion in  its  place,  that  place,  of  course,  being  the 
Church  of  England.  Dissent  was  disloyalty  to 
the  Established  Church ;  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  it. 


60  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you  there,"  replied  the 
vicar.  "  I  welcome  any  means  of  influencing  the 
people  for  good.  When  I  am  most  interested  in 
my  subject,  my  village  flock  sleeps  placidly  until 
its  discussion  is  over.  No  one  sleeps  when  Jim 
Bryan  preaches." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  the  idea. 

"No  one  sleeps,"  continued  he,  "but  more  than 
one  weeps.  The  man  has  power,  and  does  much 
and  lasting  good." 

All  people  are  not  so  much  impressed  by  him 
as  you  seem  to  think,"  said  Minnie,  laughing. 
"  An  old  woman,  who  lives  on  the  common,  told 
me  in  great  wrath  one  day  that  'she  was  not 
going  to  Heaven  hisn  way,  so  he  need  not  think 
it.'  " 

There  was  a  laugh  of  much  amusement  at 
Minnie's  speech,  and  the  conversation  drifted  into 
other  channels.  Tea,  at  this  unusual  hour,  was 
taken  without  ceremony  ;  and  Minnie  and  Marta 
preferred  to  sit  in  one  of  the  low  window-seats, 
where  they  could  interchange  a  few  thoughts  not 
intended  for  society  at  large. 

The  drawing-room  was  well  lighted  by  side-win- 
dows of  modern  structure.  The  oaken  floor  was 
polished  to  the  brightness  of  a  mirror,  and  reflected 
the  antique  chairs  and  tables  standing  thereupon. 
Life  in  such  a  room  would  have  been  unendurable 
but  for  the  Turkish  rugs  and  modern  easy-chairs 
Mrs.  Selwyn  had  introduced.  The  ceiling  was  a 


THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE."  61 

masterpiece,  carved  by  a  famous  artist  of  Charles 
II.'s  reign.  It  pictured  Sabrina,  supported  and 
welcomed  by  the  mermaids  to  their  home  under  the 
waves  ;  overhead,  the  sweet  tangle  of  water-lilies. 
Mr.  Fordyce,  who  saw  it  for  the  first  time,  was 
absorbed  by  the  enchanting  subject.  Mrs.  Selwyn 
noticed  this,  and  laughed. 

"  I  must  confess  to  a  preference  for  modern 
houses,"  she  said.  "The  halls  of  your  ancestors 
have  to  be  accepted  with  all  the  drawbacks  of  a 
barbarous  age,  you  know." 

Here  the  bell  from  the  clock-tower  struck  six. 
Every  one  rose,  for  it  was  time  to  repair  to  the 
park  in  search  of  the  mothers.  Crawford  declared 
it  was  taking  needless  trouble,  and  gave  the  band 
a  signal.  With  the  first  sound  of  the  drum,  the 
stragglers  appeared,  and  the  scene  became  one  of 
great  mirth  and  brightness. 

Minnie  was  a  host  in  herself ;  she  was  possessed 
with  a  genuine  love  of  children's  games.  She 
soon  gathered  all  the  children  who  had  come  with 
the  fathers  to  the  fete,  and  played  the  old  games 
they  loved.  In  truth,  they  would  learn  nothing 
new,  but  clung  to  those  which  had  descended  to 
them  from  their  forefathers.  Their  prime  favor- 
ite was  "Sally,  Sally  Walters."  One  girl  kneels  in 
the  centre,  the  children  join  hands  and  move  round 
singing,  in  humdrum  monotone,  — 

"  Sally,  Sally  Walters,  sprinkle  in  the  pan ; 
Rise  up,  Sally,  and  choose  your  young  man." 


62  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

There  is  a  pause  ;  Sally  chooses.  The  two  then 
stand  together  while  the  children  dance  gayly 
round  them,  continuing  a  kind  of  incantation 
which  showers  blessings  on  the  pair,  ending  with 
the  words,  — 

"  Now,  young  couple,  kiss,  and  adone." 

Meanwhile  the  young  men  and  maidens  are  to 
be  seen  enjoying  "  Kiss  in  the  Ring,"  a  game  of 
which  they  never  grow  weary.  It  also  has  come 
to  them  from  a  long  past.  The  participants 
scream  and  laugh  and  clap  their  hands. 

The  married  folks  are  dancing.  The  band  plays 
country  dances,  and  the  matrons  foot  it  right 
featly.  Mother  Stivens,  despite  her  ponderous 
weight,  moves  with  grace  and  rhythm.  It  is  a 
pretty  sight  in  the  golden,  autumn  sunlight.  What 
can  be  more  quaint  than  these  old  country  dances, 
these  deep  courtesies  and  bows,  these  careful 
steps  and  quiet,  decorous  figures,  requiring  solemn, 
earnest  expression  ?  The  men,  for  their  part,  in- 
terpolate original  steps,  balance  much  on  one  foot, 
and  whistle  the  tune  as  they  dance.  These  things 
also  come  to  them  by  tradition,  and  are  therefore 
"correct." 

Apart  from  the  "  merrymakers "  is  a  group  of 
the  more  sober,  intellectual  folk.  In  the  centre 
stands  the  village  dress  maker,  whose  renown  is 
great  as  a  singer.  Her  marvellous  repertoire  is 
gained  from  the  book-hawkers  who  stroll  round 


THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE."  63 

the  country  with  ballads  for  sale.  They  have  read 
her  the  ballads,  hummed  the  tune,  and  thus  she 
has  gained  her  musical  education. 

Mr.  Fordyce  and  Marta  meet  at  the  outer  ring 
of  the  crowd  in  time  to  hear  the  touching  ballad, 
"  The  Turk  he  had  an  only  Daughter,"  pronounced, 
in  dialect,  "  The  Turkey  'ad  a  honly  darter." 

"This  ballad  descends  from  the  Crusades,"  said 
the  vicar  softly. 

"  How  much  every  one  was  interested  in  it," 
Marta  suggested. 

"  I  found  it  interesting  also,"  he  replied.  "  What 
is  coming  now  ?  " 

"  Ho !  the  mistletoe  bough ! " 

Oh,  the  turns  and  the  twists  of  that  shrill  voice  ! 
the  slurs,  the  glissando  from  low  to  high  notes ! 
With  a  laugh  of  amusement,  Marta  and  Mr.  For- 
dyce left  the  circle  and  walked  on,  passing  Minnie 
who  was  "winding  up  the  clock"  with  number- 
less children,  and  a  smaller  group  playing,  — 

"  Cobbler,  cobbler,  bind  my  shoe, 
An'  bring  'un  'ome  at  'alf-past  two." 

A  large  tree  overshadowing  the  lily  pond  sent 
down  its  huge  limbs  to  lie  along  the  turf,  making 
charming  seats.  Marta  and  the  vicar  sat  down  to 
watch  the  busy  scene,  where,  for  the  present,  their 
efforts  were  not  needed.  Marta  felt  very  shy. 
She  had  been  brought  up  a  Baptist,  and  had  never 
met  a  clergyman  of  the  Episcopal  Church  before. 


64  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

What  would  aunt  Cathy  say,  did  she  know  that 
her  niece  was  sitting  side  by  side  with  a  priest,  an 
enemy  to  true  religion  ? 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  at  church,"  he  said,  after 
a  long  silence. 

"  I  have  never  been  to  church  in  my  life.  I  am 
a  Baptist,"  said  Marta,  shyly. 

"  You  have  a  very  learned  minister,  I  hear,"  he 
said  quickly.  "  I  am  coming  to  hear  him  preach 
some  day." 

Marta  gazed  at  him  with  astonishment.  Church 
and  Dissent  had  been  in  a  continual  state  of  war- 
fare during  the  old  vicar's  life.  Dissent  had  gained 
the  day  with  regard  to  Church  rates.  Church  had 
taken  revenge  by  refusing  its  dead  a  place  in  the 
church-yard.  No  wonder  that  Marta  should  feel 
astonished  at  the  attitude  of  the  new  vicar. 

"  I  should  like  to  come  to  church,"  she  said,  sud- 
denly. "  It  is  such  a  beautiful  old  building.  I 
think  I  could  worship  better  with  colored  windows 
and  fine  architecture  around." 

"  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  develop  into  a 
Ritualist,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  smiling.  "True 
worship,  as  I  understand  it,  is  to  come  into  com- 
munion with  God.  Time  and  place  are  imma- 
terial." 

"  I  always  feel  that  in  the  fields  and  woods," 
said  Marta  softly.  "  The  trees  and  mountains 
seem  to  help  in  the  service." 

He  gave  a  sudden,  inquiring  look  at  her.  Here 
was  surely  no  ordinary  woman. 


THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE."  65 

The  sun  had  set ;  the  water-lilies  folded  their 
petals ;  it  was  twilight.  With  the  last  stroke  of 
eight  from  the  bell-tower,  the  band  began  to  play 
"Sir  Roger  de  Coverley."  Men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, ladies  and  gentlemen, — all  entered  with  zest 
into  this  grand  finale.  Mother  Stivens  headed  the 
dance ;  and,  when  danced  down,  retired  beaming, 
ready  to  begin  the  series  of  dips  or  courtesies 
which  interlarded  her  thanks  for  the  entertainment. 

It  was  over  at  last.  The  band  marched  away 
playing  "God  save  the  Queen."  Parents  and  chil- 
dren straggled  in  an  irregular  mass  through  the 
park  fields  to  the  village.  Their  entertainers  lin- 
gered a  while  in  the  gardens  to  interchange  con- 
gratulations on  the  success  of  the  fete. 

It  was  dusk  as  Marta,  with  Minnie,  Crawford 
and  the  vicar,  walked  up  the  hillside  to  Heaven's 
Gate.  The  deer  could  be  seen  herding  timidly 
under  the  trees.  The  yew-trees  looked  black  in 
the  forest ;  and  the  moon,  rising  over  the  Cots- 
wold,  shone  with  a  line  of  silver  in  the  dark  bed 
of  Severn. 

"  Remember,"  said  Minnie,  as  she  bade  Marta 
good-night  at  the  park  wall,  "  I  shall  expect  you 
and  William  early  on  the  day  of  the  athletic 
sports." 

Mr.  Fordyce  and  Marta  walked  silently  onwards, 
—  Marta  in  great  perplexity,  wishing  that  her 
uncle,  who  was  the  soul  of  hospitality,  did  not  hate 
"pa' sons."  She  dared  not  ask  the  vicar  to  cross 


66  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

the  threshold  of  Heaven's  Gate,  and  to  refrain 
from  doing  so  went  against  every  fibre  of  her 
kindly  nature.  Perhaps  Mr.  Fordyce  guessed  her 
difficulty,  for  he  pleaded  want  of  time  and  hurried 
away  as  soon  as  Marta  had  opened  the  garden- 
door. 

"  I  am  coming  soon  to  make  Mr.  De  Clifford's 
acquaintance,"  said  he,  smiling  genially.  "  I  want 
to  know  him.  The  poor  tell  me  he  is  their  best 
friend." 

Marta  found  William  absorbed  in  the  composi- 
tion of  an  exquisite  theme.  For  once,  he  believed 
in  himself  and  his  power  to  produce  good  work. 
Marta  knew  that  such  faith  in  himself  was  just 
what  he  needed  to  keep  him  happy  and  good,  and 
she  cordially  entered  into  his  mood.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  door  was  burst  open,  and  aunt  Cathy 
came  in.  It  was  nothing  to  her  that  William  was 
innocently  employed.  He  was  not  doing  any  thing 
she  could  understand,  therefore  he  was  a  mere 
idler  to  be  lashed  into  a  higher  ideal  of  duty.  She 
broke  upon  his  occupation  with  a  torrent  of  unjust, 
stinging  reproaches.  Mr.  De  Clifford,  drifting 
along  as  usual  with  pipe,  cider,  and  "  Baptist  Re- 
corder," hearing  the  noise,  suggested  to  William 
"  to  put  down  his  fiddle,  and  read  the  Bible  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening." 

William  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and 
laughed  bitterly.  He  threw  down  his  violin,  took 
his  hat,  and  rushed  out,  tearing  down  the  hill  like 
one  goaded  to  madness. 


THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE."  67 

"  I  wonder  where  he's  off  to  at  this  time  o' 
night,"  said  aunt  Cathy,  peering  after  him. 

"  To  the  village  inn,"  said  Marta,  bowing  her 
head  to  hide  her  tears. 

"There's  not  a  scrap  of  principle  in  him,"  said 
aunt  Cathy,  venomously. 

Mr.  De  Clifford  shook  the  pages  of  the  "  Re- 
corder "  uneasily.  Did  his  conscience  rebuke  him 
for  his  injudicious  conduct  to  his  motherless  boy  ? 

Thomas  Hughes  walked  into  the  bar-room  of 
the  inn.  He  often  strolled  in  to  see  if  there  were 
not  some  "brand  he  might  pluck  from  the  burn- 
ing." His  influence  had  saved  more  than  one 
youth  from  going  on  a  run  to  the  Devil.  This 
evening  he  found  more  noise  and  fun  were  going 
on  than  usual.  William  was  there  in  a  brilliant, 
excited  mood ;  he  was  the  centre  of  a  group  of 
notedly  wild  men,  who  were  now  suggesting  some 
daring  deeds  to  be  done  under  cover  of  the  title, 
"  practical  jokes."  William  would  not  have  spoken 
to  these  men  in  a  less  wild  humour ;  but  he  had 
been  drinking,  and  had  lost  his  judgement.  Thomas 
Hughes  made  use  of  his  power  of  magnetism,  and 
William  was  in  the  street  before  he  understood 
how  or  why  he  had  left  the  room. 

"  Go  home,  my  boy,"  said  Thomas.  "  Don't 
sink  your  genius  to  the  level  of  those  low  ruffians. 
Think  of  your  mother  and  Marta,  boy,  and  go 
home." 


68  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

The  wildness  left  William  instantly.  He  looked 
pitifully  up  at  Thomas  Hughes ;  and  then,  meeting 
that  kindly  eye,  drooped  his  head  in  a  way  that 
told  its  story  of  loss  of  self-respect,  and  walked 
unsteadily  away. 

"  Who  is  that  beautiful  lad  ? " 

Thomas  Hughes,  who  was  sadly  watching  Wil- 
liam's unsteady  gait,  turned  sharply,  and  recog- 
nized the  church  parson. 

"  William  De  Clifford,  sir,  —  a  boy  of  great 
genius,  but  of  weak  character.  I  am  afraid  he  is 
lost." 

"  Do  you  mean  an  inveterate  drunkard  ? " 

"That's  what  he  will  end  with  becoming  if  his 
father  continues  to  thwart  his  genius.  The  boy 
has  a  wonderful  genius  for  music,  sir ;  but  the  old 
man  thinks  it  beneath  a  gentleman  to  devote  his 
life  to  music." 

"  I  must  make  acquaintance  with  the  lad.  I 
can  at  least  offer  him  intelligent  sympathy." 

"  I  love  him  as  well  as  one  of  my  own,"  said 
Thomas  Hughes.  "  If  you  can  do  aught  for  him, 
sir,  I  shall  thank  you  from  my  heart." 

"  As  I  thank  you  for  showing  me  some  work  to 
do  after  my  own  heart,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  grasp- 
ing the  hand  held  out  to  him  with  a  hearty  shake. 

They  parted,  and  went  their  several  ways. 
Thomas  Hughes  glided  into  his  office,  shut  the 
shutters  and  bolted  the  door ;  then  sat  down,  with 
a  chuckle  of  content,  to  his  books. 


THE  WOMEN'S  "FETE."  69 

"  If  this  colliery  speculation  succeeds  it  will  set 
me  straight,  after  all,"  said  he,  as  he  rose. 

"You  work  late,"  said  Mr.  Rolls,  who  met  him 
a  minute  afterwards  in  the  street, 


70  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MR.  FORDYCE  SETS  FOOT  IN  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

IT  was  decided  that  Marta  should  spend  a  few 
weeks  of  September  with  her  cousins  at  "  The 
Hollies."  She  was  unwilling  to  do  so  on  William's 
account,  but  the  Recce's  would  take  no  refusal. 
Reginald,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Herly,  drove  over 
for  her ;  but,  as  the  day  was  very  warm,  aunt  Cathy 
insisted  the  return  drive  should  be  taken  in  the 
evening.  The  whole  party,  including  this  marplot, 
sought  the  shade  of  the  old  medlar-tree  soon  after 
dinner. 

William  was  in  high  spirits ;  a  new  theme  had 
occurred  to  him,  and  an  original  method  of  treat- 
ing it.  He  was  glad  to  discuss  the  subject  with 
Reginald,  who  knew  enough  of  counterpoint  to  be 
a  good  critic.  Dr.  Herly  and  Marta  were  discuss- 
ing books,  while  aunt  Cathy  put  in  her  word,  as 
usual,  mat  d  propos  to  every  thing.  Suddenly  a 
figure  appeared  against  the  sky  just  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill. 

"  The  Church  of  England  pa'son,"  shrilled  aunt 
Cathy.  "  Come  to  get  the  children  christened,  I'll 


MR.  FORDYCE  SETS  FOOT  IN  HEAVEN  S  GATE.   71 

lay  any  thing.  I'll  soon  send  him  to  the  right- 
abouts." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  she  would  have  done  so 
most  heartily,  and  the  imminent  danger  of  such  a 
catastrophe  fairly  paralyzed  the  rest  of  the  party. 
Dr.  Herly,  however,  with  a  respectful  air  which 
quite  disarmed  aunt  Cathy,  suggested  that  "  it 
would  be  a  far  more  Christian  act  to  convince  the 
young  man  of  his  errors." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  church  you  belong 
to,"  snapped  aunt  Cathy.  "  For  inside  a  church 
I've  never  heard  of  your  being  since  you  came  to 
the  West  County." 

Dr.  Herly  was  sure,  that  as  aunt  Cathy  never 
lent  an  ear  to  gossip,  it  was  quite  unlikely  she  had 
heard  of  his  being  in  church.  As  the  good  lady 
did  not  understand  the  language  of  sarcasm,  and 
no  one  chose  to  translate  it  for  her,  she  became 
good  tempered,  and  welcomed  Mr.  Fordyce  with 
becoming  hospitality. 

It  would  have  been  a  hard  task  for  even  aunt 
Cathy  to  have  been  rude  to  one  so  genial  as  the 
vicar.  An  atmosphere  of  loving-kindness  seemed 
to  pervade  his  being ;  every  one  felt  the  brighter 
for  his  presence.  There  was  a  sense  of  posses- 
sion in  the  way  he  took  and  clasped  William's 
eager  hand.  The  boy  did  not  know  that  the  sole 
purpose  of  this  visit  was  to  give  the  stronger  man 
a  foothold  that  he  might  fight  with  the  Devil  for 
supremacy,  side  by  side  with  the  weak  lad.  Mr. 


72     ,  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

Fordyce  had  faith  in  the  power  of  the  strong  to 
help  the  weak.  He  felt  eager  for  a  battle-royal,  for 
a  fitting  opportunity  to  show  William  that  he  no 
longer  stood  alone.  In  the  mean  time  he  had 
found  an  excuse  for  calling  at  Heaven's  Gate  :  it 
came  to  him  like  an  inspiration. 

"  I  am  come  to  make  a  very  bold  request,"  said 
he,  to  William.  "The  musical  portion  of  my  ser- 
vice is  so  unendurable  that  I  suffer  agonies  every 
Sunday." 

"I  have  heard  it,"  said  Reginald,  laughing.  "I 
was  afraid  I  should  laugh,  it  was  so  intensely  ludi- 
crous. The  clerk  ground  a  barrel  organ,  and  a 
few  people  sang.  The  barrel  organ  is  the  worst 
instrument  to  lead  church  singing  that  I  can  im- 
agine." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce.  "Such  a 
common  instrument  desecrates  the  noble  old 
church.  I  am  inclined  to  hope  that  the  grand 
organ  there  is  not  hopelessly  out  of  repair.  I 
have  come  to  ask  you,  William,  to  inspect  it  with 
me.  Do  you  play  the  organ  ?  " 

^William  is  a  universal  genius,"  said  Reginald, 
who  felt  that  this  was  a  pleasant  trait  in  William, 
reflecting  credit  on  his  relatives.  He  was  above 
any  feeling  of  jealousy,  being  clever  enough  to 
recognize  the  limitations  of  talent  when  placed 
beside  genius. 

"  I  can  play  every  instrument  that  has  ever 
come  in  my  way,"  said  William,  quietly.  "  I  shall 


MR.  FORDYCE    SETS    FOOT    IN    HEAVEN  S    GATE.     73 

be  delighted  to  examine  your  old  organ.  It  ought 
to  be  good,  as  the  church  was  an  important  one 
once.  I  mean  good  for  its  age." 

"You  will  be  doing  me  a  great  service,"  said 
Mr.  Fordyce.  "  I  have  been  reduced  to  the  '  Old 
Hundredth '  every  Sunday  for  a  month.  The 
barrel  organ  has  taken  to  wheezing,  and,  as  you 
may  know,  is  such  an  imperfect  specimen  that 
one  tune  must  be  ground  out  before  another  hymn 
is  begun.  If  the  stanzas  to  be  sung  are  few  in 
number,  the  congregation  has  to  listen  until  the 
clerk  has  ground  out  the  rest  of  the  barrel." 

Even  aunt  Cathy  laughed  at  this  description. 

"William  will  help  you,"  said  Marta,  her  calm 
eyes  shining  with  pleasure  at  this  new  interest  for 
her  cousin.  "  He  knows  the  villagers  so  well  that 
he  can  tell  you  who  amongst  them  would  be  use- 
ful in  a  choir." 

"Ah,  if  he  would  be  persuaded  to  take  the  place 
of  choir-master !  "  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  with  enthusi- 
asm. William  shook  his  head,  and  glanced  at 
aunt  Cathy,  and  then  at  his  father,  who,  pipe  in 
hand,  came  slowly  up  the  garden  path. 

"  Baptists  we  are,  and  Baptists  we  shall  remain," 
said  the  aunt,  with  an  inimical  glance  at  the  pa'son. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  with  a  con- 
cilatory  bow.  "/  believe  that  I  have  the  best 
means  of  worshipping  God,  you  believe  that  you 
have.  Let  us  be  friends,  and  agree  to  differ." 

"Good,  very  good!"  said  Mr.  De  Clifford,  hold- 


74  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

ing  out  his  hand  to  Mr.  Fordyce.  "  Glad  to  meet 
you,  sir.  I've  heard  of  you  from  Thomas  Hughes." 

William  was  thunder-struck  at  this  cordial  re- 
ception, not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it.  His 
father  loved  him  deeply,  and  had  cudgelled  his 
brains  to  find  some  means  of  keeping  him  from  his 
downward  career.  Thomas  Hughes  broke  in  one 
day  on  these  cogitations,  and  showed  him  clearly 
what  a  salutary  influence  the  vicar's  might  prove 
to  William,  and  told  him  plainly  he  would  be  an 
enemy  to  his  son  if  he  withheld  this  means  of 
grace  from  him. 

" Suppose  William  should  turn  Episcopalian?" 
objected  Mr.  De  Clifford. 

"That  is  better  than  becoming  a  hopeless  drunk- 
ard. That's  what  he  will  come  to,  if  you  can't 
break  him  from  the  company  he  gets  at  the  inn," 
replied  Thomas  Hughes. 

"  Sit  down  again,  sir,  sit  down,"  said  Mr.  De 
Clifford,  cordially.  "  It  is  a  warm  afternoon  for 
the  first  of  September,  is  it  not  ? " 

Before  the  vicar  could  reply,  aunt  Cathy  resumed 
her  former  theme  in  a  most  exasperating  manner. 

"  I  am  convinced  that  you  know  nothing  of  our 
principles,"  she  snapped.  "  You  Church  of  Eng- 
land pa'sons  never  look  beyond  your  Thirty-nine 
Articles  by  which  you  swear." 

"  It  is  never  '  too  late  to  mend,'  "  said  Mr.  For- 
dyce, in  a  cordial  voice.  Speech  and  tone  were 
received  with  favor.  Aunt  Cathy  solemnly  rose, 


MR.  FORDYCE  SETS  FOOT  IN  HEAVEN  S  GATE.  75 

and  went  into  the  library ;  thence  she  soon  re- 
turned with  a  well-read  volume.  This  she  placed 
in  the  vicar's  hands,  with  an  injunction  to  read  it 
without  prejudice.  After  one  look  at  William's 
eager  face,  he  promised  to  make  the  attempt.  It 
was  "Carson  on  Baptism." 

"  I  hear  that  the  singing  at  the  Baptist  Chapel 
is  very  good,"  said  he,  to  his  host. 

"  We  have  a  good  choir,"  he  replied.  "  Some 
of  our  people  have  fine  voices  too ;  so  the  con- 
gregational singing  is  above  the  average." 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like  to  establish,"  said 
Mr.  Fordyce.  "But  I  do  not  know  how  to  set 
about  it." 

"  Better  get  William  to  help  you,"  said  Mr.  De 
Clifford,  stolidly  indifferent  to  aunt  Cathy's  sig- 
nals. "  He  could  give  you  a  hand  Sunday  even- 
ings, for  we  have  only  morning  and  afternoon 
services." 

"  O  father,  thank  you  !  "  cried  William,  starting 
up  ready  to  embrace  him  with  delight ;  but  with- 
held by  knowing  his  father  considered  any  mani- 
festation of  affection  in  public  ill-bred. 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce, 
grasping  his  hand  with  a  hearty  shake.  "  I  hope 
I  shall  no  longer  be  depressed  by  the  dead-alive 
condition  of  my  musical  services." 

"  I  wish  you  success,  sir,"  said  Mr.  De  Clifford. 

Mr.  Fordyce,  seeing  an  argument  against  the 
use  of  the  church-service  in  aunt  Cathy's  eye, 
determined  to  escape. 


76  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"Are  you  ready,  William?"  he  said.  "I  told 
the  clerk  to  be  at  the  church-door  by  five  o'clock." 

"Come  again  soon,"  said  aunt  Cathy,  with  a 
nod  that  spoke  volumes. 

"  We  will  take  you  as  far  as  the  beech  wood," 
said  Marta,  with  a  glance  at  Dr.  Herly  and  Regi- 
nald. 

"The  world's  come  to  a  pretty  pass,"  said  aunt 
Cathy,  before  they  were  well  out  of  hearing. 
"  Our  William  going  off  with  a  church  pa'son  !  " 

Mr.  De  Clifford's  eyes  were  following  the  happy 
group  walking  over  the  heather  to  the  wood.  Per- 
haps his  ears  were  there  too,  for  he  made  no  an- 
swer to  his  sister's  remarks  until  they  became  of 
a  very  scathing  nature. 

"  O  Lord  ! "  he  ejaculated  in  disgust,  shook 
himself,  and  went  into  the  house.  Aunt  Cathy 
then  turned  on  the  children ;  but,  at  this  moment, 
Dr.  Herly  blew  his  whistle. 

"That  is  for  us,"  cried  Olga.  They  vaulted  the 
wall  and  flew  over  the  common.  Left  to  herself, 
the  old  lady  vented  her  wrath  on  her  knitting- 
needles. 

"That  is  a  good  friend  for  William,"  said  Dr. 
Herly,  as  they  returned  to  Heaven's  Gate. 

"  Yes,"  said  Marta.  "  I  was  afraid  uncle  would 
not  like  him." 

"  I  was  never  more  surprised  in  my  life,"  said 
Reginald.  "  But  there  is  something  very  irresist- 
ible in  Fordyce's  cordial  manner.  He  is  an 


MR.  FORDYCE  SETS  FOOT  IN  HEAVEN  S  GATE.   // 

Oxford  man,  —  senior  wrangler,  and  a  powerful 
man,  mentally  and  physically.  He  intended  to  go 
in  for  literature  in  a  dilettante  way,  I  imagine,  for 
at  that  time  he  was  wealthy.  Well,  his  father  died, 
leaving  his  affairs  in  great  confusion  ;  and  his  only 
legacy  to  Fordyce  was  his  blessing,  with  a  step- 
mother and  three  step-sisters  to  support.  Mr. 
Selwyn  at  once  offered  him  this  living,  and  he 
took  orders  and  came  here." 

"Was  he  not  a  religious  man?"  asked  Marta, 
anxiously. 

"What  he  is  I  see  in  every  case  of  distress 
within  a  radius  of  thirty  miles,"  said  Dr.  Herly, 
emphatically. 

"  Oh  !  he  is  well  enough,"  said  Reginald,  yawn- 
ing. "He  is  a  first-rate  cricketer  and  boxer." 

Mr.  Fordyce  and  William  walked  happily  on- 
ward. The  vicar  had  a  rare  ability  for  seeing  peo- 
ple at  their  best.  William  instantly  felt  this. 
Something,  too,  in  the  moral  power  of  the  man 
gave  him  a  stimulus,  awakened  his  latent  strength 
until  he  felt  himself  no  longer  a  weakling.  Alas  ! 
for  one  so  easily  influenced,  half  an  hour  in  the 
society  of  the  practical  jokers  at  the  inn,  and 
William  would  be  at  his  worst  again. 

The  parish  clerk  was  sitting  on  a  tombstone  by 
the  chancel  door.  In  private  life  he  was  carpen- 
ter and  "jack-of-all-trades,"  the  most  handy  man 
in  the  village. 

"  Halloo,  thee ! "  began  William  in  the  dialect. 
"  Bist  thee  ready  for  a  tinkering  job,  eh  ?  " 


78  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Oy,  lod,"  replied  he,  with  a  grin  of  delight. 

William  had  a  perfect  manner  to  his  social  in- 
feriors ;  he  had  only  to  lead,  and  they  were  over- 
joyed to  follow  him.  Mr.  Fordyce  often  offended 
the  people  unintentionally.  He  wondered  at  Wil- 
liam's easy,  yet  dignified,  manner.  Who  but  he, 
would  have  dared  order  the  clerk  about  in  such 
peremptory  manner?  Yet  there  was  old  Brink- 
worth  on  the  broad  grin  half  the  time,  and  cheer- 
ful, though  most  of  the  work  had  to  be  done  inside 
the  musty  organ.  Mr.  Fordyce  climbed  about  the 
gallery  from  pew  to  pew,  opening  worm-eaten 
prayer-books,  curiously  scrutinizing  the  dates. 
His  assistance  had  been  declined  when  it  proved 
a  hindrance. 

"  We  have  mended  the  bellows,"  called  William. 
"  Brinkworth  will  blow  while  I  try  the  keys.  Get 
as  far  off  as  you  can." 

Mr.  Fordyce  rapidly  descended  to  the  nave,  and 
then  went  to  the  end  of  the  church.  Soon  the 
melody  of  long-drawn  chords  roamed  through  the 
pillared  aisles,  filled  the  vaulted  roof,  and  died 
away,  lingering  long  among  the  echoes  there. 
The  aspect  of  the  church  was  changed ;  every 
thing  grew  harmonious.  The  saints  in  the  colored 
windows,  with  their  golden  heads,  their  upraised 
eyes,  their  purple  robes,  became  sentient,  for  a 
moment  lived  and  moved  in  spiritual  existence. 
The  stone  carvings  from  pulpit  to  pillar  became 
wrought  with  significance.  Cherubim  and  Sera- 


MR.  FORDYCE    SETS    FOOT    IN    HEAVEN  S    GATE.      79 

phim  blew  their  trumpets  triumphantly,  stretched 
their  winged  figures  in  shadows  from  wall  to  wall, 
tinted  in  gold,  purple,  and  vivid  red  from  the  flam- 
ing sunlight  that  streamed  through  the  colored 
windows  into  the  aisle. 

"  Will  it  do  ? "  called  William. 

"Only  continue;  don't  stop,"  entreated  the 
vicar. 

The  belfry  clock  struck  five,  the  music  began 
ere  its  solemn  voice  had  ceased.  Mr.  Fordyce 
roamed  round  the  church  as  he  listened,  his  eyes 
on  the  old  monuments  and  the  kneeling  figures  on 
the  brasses. 

Presently  he  went  back  to  the  organ,  and  stood 
watching  William,  who  was  absorbed  in  his  music. 

"  Genius  is  God  given,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand 
lovingly  on  William's  shoulder. 

"Aunt  Cathy  says  it  is  a  temptation  of  the 
Devil,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  Ah !  she  confounds  its  possession  with  its 
abuse." 

"Them  be  the  stiffest  bellowses  I  everblowed," 
said  Brinkworth,  mopping  his  bald  head  with  a 
yard  of  Turkey  red. 

"  The  instrument  needs  tuning  and  overhauling. 
You  had  better  send  for  Goddard  of  Gloucester. 
But,  if  you  like,  I  can  play  on  it  as  it  is  until  it  is 
repaired,"  said  William. 

They  left  the  church  and  crossed  the  fields  to 
the  village. 


8o  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Come  and  take  tea  with  me,"  said  the  vicar. 
"I  want  to  consult  you  about  the  choir." 

"Very  well.  And  I  see  old  John  there  with 
the  carriage.  I'll  send  Marta  word  why  I  do  not 
return  before  she  leaves." 

William  vaulted  the  fence  and  sprang  over  a  low 
hedge  into  the  road  and  stopped  the  obstinate  old 
servant  who  was  driving  the  more  obstinate  Jere- 
miah. He  was  glad  that  Marta  should  know  in 
whose  society  he  would  spend  the  evening. 

When  it  grew  dusk  the  vicar  accompanied  him 
a  mile  on  his  road,  sending  him  onward  with 
happy  thoughts  for  company.  He  sang  in  a  joy- 
ful voice  that  made  the  echoes  ring  as  he  climbed 
the  hillside. 

"  So  you  took  tea  with  the  vicar,'.'  said  his  father, 
meeting  him  on  the  threshold.  "  You  had  better 
get  him  up  here  for  a  game  of  cricket  some  day. 
Reginald  says  he  is  a  first-rate  player." 

"Thank  you,  father,"  said  William,  grasping  his 
father's  hand. 

"  Well,  good-night,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man, 
kindly. 


AT    "THE    HOLLIES."  8 1 


CHAPTER   VII. 

AT    "THE    HOLLIES." 

"  "  I  ^HE  doctor  does  more  with  one  lung,"  said 
J-  Reginald,  in  a  lazy  manner,  "  than  I  can  do 
with  two." 

He  was  watching  his  friend  as  he  chased  the 
children  through  the  shady  alleys.  Marta  caught 
the  doctor  as  he  ran  past. 

"How  can  you  over-exert  yourself  so ? "  she 
cried.  "What  would  you  say  if  one  of  your  pa- 
tients behaved  so  rashly." 

"  I  should  think  he  did  not  value  his  life  very 
highly,"  said  the  doctor,  quietly.  "  It  requires 
more  courage  than  you  know,  or  I  perhaps  pos- 
sess, to  live  contentedly  on  one  lung." 

"  Ah !  doctor  Herly,  what  would  the  forest  folk 
do  without  their  friend?"  cried  Marta.  "You 
must  not  throw  away  your  life." 

She  threw  a  shawl  over  him  as  he  sank  breath- 
less on  the  rug  under  the  medlar.  Reginald 
strolled  off  to  talk  to  Mr.  Rolls,  who  had  just 
appeared  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  the  chil- 
dren ran  off  to  play  ball,  their  merry  voices  mak- 
ing sweet  music.  Sweeter  far  was  the  winged 


82  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

wind  passing  through  the  pine  branches  with  a 
roll  and  roar  like  the  swell  of  the  breakers  on  a 
distant  coast. 

"  How  beautiful ! "  cried  Dr.  Herly,  rising  on 
one  arm.  "  Miss  Marta,  those  old  pines  often  read 
me  a  lesson.  There  is  a  grandness  about  their 
aspect  which  gains  my  respect.  Storm-beaten, 
lightning-blasted,  crooked  though  they  be,  how 
strong  and  firm,  how  complaisant  the  gentle  sway 
of  their  boughs  in  the  wind  !  " 

"  My  aunt  De  Clifford  often  drew  lessons  for  us 
from  nature,"  said  Marta. 

"  She  was  an  intellectual  woman,  I  imagine  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  she  had  genius  for  poetry  and  music, 
as  William  has.  Poor  William  !  He  has  missed 
her  love  and  care  more  than  any  of  us." 

"  Aunt  Cathy  wants  you,  Marta,"  called  Jennie, 
flying  past,  pursued  by  Olga. 

The  gentlemen  were  in  the  drawing-room  listen- 
ing with  attention  to  Reginald,  who  had  some  new 
ideas  about  working  the  Swale  colliery.  The 
greed  for  money-making  was  profaning  the  very 
air  of  Heaven's  Gate.  Marta  felt  uneasy.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  found  herself  in  the  atti- 
tude of  critic  with  regard  to  Reginald.  Hitherto, 
in  all  her  intercourse  with  him,  she  had  only  seen 
him  at  his  best.  She  objected  to  this  new  phase 
of  character,  developed  by  the  fever  of  specula- 
tion. She  could  not  forgive  him  for  caring  so 
much  for  money :  it  seemed  to  her  a  despicable 


AT    "THE   HOLLIES."  83 

failing.  While  indulging  in  such  severe  criticism, 
a  sudden  turn  was  given  to  her  thoughts  by  the 
message  brought  by  old  John.  Her  eyes  shone 
with  pleasure  as  she  repeated  it  to  her  uncle,  and 
she  laughed  with  a  light  heart  at  the  quips  and 
cranks  between  aunt  Cathy  and  Reginald  at  the 
tea-table.  Reginald  was  delighted  to  make  the 
old  lady  talk  and  express  her  serious  disapproval 
of  his  careless  remarks. 

"  Heartless  and  godless,"  muttered  aunt  Cathy 
to  herself.  "He  is  not  worth  as  much,  after  all, 
as  our  fiddling  William." 

At  sundown  surly  old  John  brought  the  phaeton 
to  the  door,  and  the  party  started  for  "  The 
Hollies."  The  sun  was  setting  as  they  drove  into 
the  woods ;  the  crimson  sky  could  be  seen  in 
glimpses  through  the  trees.  Soon  the  over-arch- 
ing branches  made  twilight,  even  dusk.  The 
farther  they  drove  into  the  forest,  the  darker  it 
grew.  Dr.  Herly  was  in  high  spirits,  and  Regi- 
nald incomparably  droll ;  the  woodland  echoes  rang 
with  laughter. 

As  they  drew  near  to  X the  shadows  were 

fewer  and  farther  between,  and  the  rising  moon 
prolonged  the  light.  Two  figures  on  horseback 
flashed  past,  and  then  suddenly  reined  their  horses 
a  few  yards  distant. 

"  Is  that  you,  George  ?  "  called  Reginald. 

"  Yes ;  a  word  with  you,"  said  a  deep  voice ;  and 
a  man,  whom  Reginald  introduced  as  Mr.  Drew, 


84  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

rode  up  to  the  carriage.  Marta's  eyes,  however, 
were  fixed  on  the  lady  who  was  his  companion. 
She  never  forgot  her  first  glance  at  Margaret 
Drew. 

Margaret  sat  motionless  on  her  white  horse,  her 
statuesque,  clearly  cut  features  seeming  to  grow 
out  of  the  faint  light.  Nature  had  endowed  her 
with  a  mask  in  that  marble  face  over  which  she 
had  perfect  control.  She  disliked  the  fripperies 
of  fashion  in  dress,  and  clothed  her  statuesque 
beauty  with  nun-like  simplicity.  Other  women 
emulated  this  elegant  style,  but  gave  up  the  effort 
with  naive  wonder  that  Margaret  should  look  regal 
in  a  gown  which  rendered  them  mere  dowdies. 
Popular  opinion,  much  divided  with  regard  to  this 
new-comer,  agreed  on  one  point  of  some  impor- 
tance :  "  she  had  no  heart,  yet  possessed  the  power, 
which  she  used  with  reckless  pleasure,  of  breaking 
and  wounding  other  hearts."  Gentlemen  admired 
her ;  ladies,  jealous  of  her  power  and  beauty, 
dreaded  also  her  sarcastic,  sometimes  cruel,  tongue. 
The  poor  spoke  well  of  her,  but  their  opinion  did 
not  affect  the  higher  tribune,  though  they  obsti- 
nately obtruded  their  criticism.  Miss  Drew  was 
beloved  by  them,  short  though  her  stay  in  the 
Forest  had  been. 

George  Drew,  once  as  handsome  as  Margaret, 
had,  with  a  tendency  to  dissipation,  grown  stout 
and  rather  coarse-looking.  His  nature  had  nothing 
in  common  with  hers ;  his  manner  was  effusive, 


AT    "THE    HOLLIES."  85 

complimentary ;  he  was  absurdly  self-conscious, 
and  craved  admiration.  Having  no  opinions  of 
his  own  worth  holding,  he  was  a  favorite  with  peo- 
ple of  a  dogmatic  tendency.  He  congratulated 
himself,  not  altogether  erroneously,  on  being  able 
to  please  all  classes.  "  In  Rome  one  comports 
one's  self  after  the  manner  of  the  Romans,"  was 
the  rule  of  his  existence.  Thus,  when  Reginald 
introduced  him  to  the  quiet  maiden  at  his  side,  he 
chattered  away  with  some  agreeable  nothings  he 
thought  must  please  a  country  maid.  A  brief 
answer,  tinged  with  sarcasm,  made  every  nerve  of 
his  self-conscious  body  tingle. 

Marta  turned  to  speak  to  Dr.  Herly,  but  ob- 
served that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Margaret,  who, 
in  her  turn,  was  looking  at  him  in  the  same  intense 
way.  Both  faces  were  white  and  still,  perfect 
command  of  countenance  making  that  whiteness 
and  stillness  the  only  visible  signs  of  discomfiture. 
Suddenly  the  lady  wheeled  her  horse ;  it  reared 
and  plunged  wildly ;  she  struck  it  sharply  with  her 
whip,  and  dashed  past  the  phaeton  towards  the 
town. 

George  Drew  spurred  after  his  sister,  and  Regi- 
nald drove  slowly  on.  There  was  no  more  merri- 
ment, for  Dr.  Herly  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in 
thought  that  he  could  not  follow  the  conversation 
between  his  companions.  He  leaned  back  wearily, 
his  quiet  eyes  following  the  dimly  outlined  road 
on  which  the  reckless  rider  had  disappeared.  It 


86  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

was  dusk  now  with  the  fall  of  night, — a  dangerous 
time  to  ride  so  wildly  through  the  Forest.  He 
roused  himself  presently,  as  Marta  said,  with  en- 
thusiasm, — 

"  What  a  beautiful  girl !  I  have  seen  the  won- 
derful Margaret  Drew  at  last." 

"She  is  very  wealthy,  I  am  told,"  said  Reginald. 

"And  a  girl  no  longer,"  said  Dr.  Herly.  "We 
were  children  together." 

Reginald  was  angry  with  the  intrusion  of  this 
idea,  but  the  doctor  never  spared  him  when  he  . 
thought  the  utterance  of  a  truth  would  benefit 
him.  He  said  this  for  Marta's  sake,  believing,  as 
did  most  of  the  Forest  world,  that  the  cousins 
were  engaged.  He  knew  Reginald  loved  Marta ; 
his  clear-sighted  eye  saw,  also,  that  he  loved  posi- 
tion and  money  in  a  higher  degree.  As  for  Marta, 
she  was  too  good  for  him ;  but  then,  women  as  a 
rule  were  too  good  for  their  husbands.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  one  so  passionless  as  Marta  would  not 
seek  too  great  depths  for  Reginald's  nature  to 
supply. 

The  good  doctor  lost  himself  when  he  tried  to 
understand  Marta's  character ;  he  had  not  the  key 
to  its  mingled  sternness  and  loving-kindness. 

"  Set  me  down  here,"  he  asked,  when  they  drew 
near  to  his  lodging-house.  "  I  cannot  go  on  with 
you  to-night." 

"I  thought  you  were  coming  up  to  the  house 
with  me  ? " 


AT    "THE    HOLLIES."  8/ 

"Another  evening,"  cried  the  doctor,  hastily 
descending  from  the  phaeton  and  disappearing  in 
the  dusk. 

"  How  queer  he  is  this  evening,"  said  Reginald, 
as  they  drove  on  up  the  hill. 

"  He  is  tired,"  said  Marta ;  but  she  knew  she 
held  a  clue  to  this  sudden  change  of  mood. 

They  drove  on  in  silence  until  the  lights  of  "The 
Hollies  "  came  to  view.  At  the  end  of  the  field, 
all  the  family  were  waiting  to  welcome  Marta. 
The  old  people  got  into  the  carriage,  and  Marta 
walked  on  with  her  cousins. 

The  most  comfortable  room  in  the  old  mansion 
was  a  guest  room,  called  "The  Prophet's  Chamber," 
set  apart  for  the  last  hundred  years  for  the  use  of 
Baptist  ministers.  Mr.  Reece  inherited  reverence 
for  the  priestly  office  from  his  forbears,  thus  the 
prophet's  chamber  seldom  lacked  an  occupant. 
The  reverend  brother  was  as  a  prince  in  the  house- 
hold. Domestic  affairs  were  ruled  for  his  conven- 
ience; his  appetite,  often  greedy  and  voracious, 
was  pandered  to  by  his  hostess,  the  sacredness  of 
his  calling  covering  his  faults  with  the  mantle  of 
charity.  Mr.  Reece  revered  pa' sons  against  the 
dictates  of  his  common-sense ;  he  would  not  see 
them  common,  greedy,  and  overbearing.  Mr.  De 
Clifford,  on  the  contrary,  was  unjust  in  his  con- 
tempt for  the  "whole  breed  of  pa'sons,"  judging 
all  by  those  bad  specimens  on  which  his  opinion 
was  formed  in  youth. 


88  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

The  Prophet's  Chamber,  being  vacant,  was  given 
to  Marta.  She  was  wakened  early  next  morning 
by  the  sound  of  roses  tapping  the  lattice  panes. 
She  threw  on  a  shawl ;  and,  curling  herself  up  on 
the  low,  cushioned  window-seat,  opened  the  lattice 
to  welcome  the  sweet  morning  air  and  sweeter 
rose-buds.  The  birds  were  singing  in  a  large  elm 
by  the  barley-field,  and  the  rooks  were  cawing, 
circling  round  and  round  their  nests.  The  milk- 
maids came  up  the  lane,  carrying  their  pails  on 
their  heads,  their  wooden  stools  in  their  hands ; 
the  men  went  past  with  their  horses  and  wagons, 
or  sang  some  rolicking  song  as  they  passed,  carry- 
ing their  sickles,  for  the  corn  was  ripe  in  a  few 
fields. 

Marta's  thoughts  drifted  from  the  outward  and 
visible  to  reflections  on  the  peculiar  natures  of 
her  cousins,  the  pervading  spirits  of  this  lovely 
home.  Whence  sprung  this  shrinking  from  con- 
tact with  grief  or  unpleasantness  ?  If  one,  strange 
to  the  family  idiosyncracy,  were  so  ill  advised  as  to 
relate  a  sorrowful  story,  the  coldness  of  the  sur- 
rounding atmosphere  would  cause  him  to  shorten 
or  make  his  subject  less  painful.  Even  children, 
thrown  without  experience  into  this  family  centre, 
learned  instinctively  to  avoid  any  obtrusion  of 
their  small  woes  in  hope  of  sympathy.  They 
found  they  were  expected  to  be  bright  and  pleas- 
ant. Yet  the  Recce's  gave  freely  of  their  money 
and  their  goods  ;  what  they  refused  to  give  was 


AT    "THE    HOLLIES."  89 

"themselves."  They  could  not  bear  to  suffer,  to 
feel  sorrowful  for  others.  Had  they  no  unfulfilled 
desires,  no  ambitions  which  circumstance  re- 
pressed ?  Their  pleasure-loving  natures  helped 
them  even  in  their  wishes  ;  idle,  foolish,  tiresome, 
the  habit  of  wishing  for  things  out  of  your  reach  ; 
they  were  quick  to  recognize  and  avoid  collision 
with  what  was  painful.  Present  good  was  ac- 
cepted, aspiration  for  a  nobler  existence  trodden 
under  foot.  Marta  was  troubled  by  this  ;  she 
would  take  up  a  burden  rather  than  ignore  its 
existence,  which  disposed  her  to  be  stern  in  her 
judgement  of  less  duty-loving  folks. 

The  rising-bell  rang.  Doors  banged  down- 
stairs, and  there  was  a  hum  of  preparation  from 
the  kitchen.  Marta  hastened  to  dress  :  she  ran 
down-stairs ;  the  ponderous  figure  of  Mr.  Reece 
blocked  up  the  hall-door,  and  the  prayer-bell  was 
ringing.  The  maids  filed  into  the  hall,  Dick  and 
Milly  raced  in  from  the  garden.  Mr.  Reece  was 
always  too  cross  to  be  spoken  with  until  he  had 
eaten  his  breakfast,  so  Marta  silently  took  her 
seat.  Dick  and  Milly,  standing  beside  their  father, 
read  each  a  Psalm,  stumbling,  as  usual,  over  the 
long  s's  in  the  great-grandfather's  Bible.  The 
morning  hymn  was  sung,  and  Mr.  Reece  offered 
a  short,  extempore  prayer.  Reginald  came  care- 
lessly down  when  the  morning's  devotions  were 
over.  His  worldliness  caused  much  sorrow  to  his 
father. 


90  HEAVEN  S   GATE. 

After  breakfast,  the  placid  life  of  the  day  began. 
Mr.  Reece  drove  over  to  the  collieries  ;  his  wife 
went  down-town  to  market,  followed  by  a  maid  who 
carried  a  large  basket.  Rhoda,  after  a  stroll  round 
the  garden,  went  into  the  kitchen  to  make  pastry. 
It  was  a  comfortable,  old-fashioned  kitchen,  —  the 
enormous  fireplace  with  hobs,  where  saucepans 
stood  ready  for  use  ;  over  the  fire  a  large  kettle, 
called  a  "fountain,"  was  slung,  always  full  to  the 
brim,  so  that  any  sudden  call  for  hot  water  might 
be  supplied  day  or  night ;  a  brass  jack  hung 
before  the  fire,  a  dripping-pan  underneath,  and  the 
joint  to  be  slowly  turned  before  the  fire  was  now 
being  larded  and  floured  by  the  cook. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  here ! "  said  Marta,  following 
Rhoda  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  white  pastry- 
board,  the  flour,  butter,  and  rolling-pin  were  ready 
on  the  table.  "  I  should  like  to  make  a  picture  of 
this  interior." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  said  Rhoda.  "Mind  you 
put  in  the  flitches  of  bacon  hanging  to  the  ceiling, 
the  strings  of  onions  and  herbs,  and  the  brass 
candlesticks  and  warming-pan  over  the  chimney- 
piece." 

"I  should  only  fail,"  laughed  Marta.  "It  would 
take  an  artist.  By  the  way,  Hubert  Marshall 
would  make  a  perfect  picture  for  you.  Ask  him." 

"  He  has  left  the  Forest,"  said  Rhoda,  calmly. 

"  How  long  since  ?  Why  did  he  leave  so  sud- 
denly?" 


AT    "THE   HOLLIES.  9! 

"  I  suppose  the  monotonous  life  wearied  him," 
said  Rhoda,  with  a  slight  hesitation  and  droop  of 
the  eyelashes. 

No  need  to  explain  the  process  by  which  a  man's 
heart  was  broken,  his  faith  in  woman  shattered. 
Hubert  was  poor ;  yet  so  noble,  so  dignified,  that 
even  Reginald  bowed  before  his  superiority.  He 
met  with  Rhoda  amongst  the  sylvan  shades,  the 
oaks  and  beeches  of  Dean,  and  loved  her  as  an 
ideal  woman.  He  little  thought  that  worldliness 
could  creep  into  this  lovely  Forest  world,  or  that 
Rhoda  had  a  keen  eye  to  her  own  interests,  and 
had  no  intention  of  losing  her  heart  to  a  poor 
man.  She  went  away  on  a  visit ;  when  she  re- 
turned, Hubert  was  gone.  One  interview  with  Mrs. 
Reece,  one  letter  from  Rhoda,  in  answer  to  his 
own  impassioned  appeal,  had  completely  opened 
his  eyes.  Lydia  missed  his  brilliant,  entertaining 
society ;  she  was  dull  and  out  of  spirits  for  a 
while.  Mrs.  Reece  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  Law,  Reginald,  I  wonder  you  don't  call  on  the 
new  comer  to  '  The  Pines,'  and  ask  Mr.  Drew  up 
here  to  smoke  a  pipe  with  you.  Law,  it  would 
only  be  kind." 

Mr.  Drew,  with  his  past  unclean  record,  his  pres- 
ent white-wash  of  respectability,  soon  supplied 
the  place  left  vacant  by  the  greater  man.  Rhoda, 
without  a  religious  desire  in  her  heart,  regretted 
that  she  belonged  to  the  unfashionable  Baptist 
persuasion.  In  those  days,  the  term  "  Dissenter  " 


Q2  HEAVENS   GATE. 

suggested  "vulgarity"  to  unintelligent  minds. 
Rhoda  admired  George  Drew  for  being  an  Episco- 
palian ;  nor  would  his  reason  for  a  regular  attend- 
ance at  church  have  shocked  her,  —  merely  a 
desire  to  gain  credit  for  a  respectability  which  his 
former  life  did  not  possess.  He  had  persuaded 
Margaret  to  come  and  live  with  him,  and  knew 
that  he  must  be  on  his  best  behaviour,  or  she 
would  leave  him.  It  was  his  desire  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  best  society  in  the  Forest,  and 
he  wanted  his  beautiful  sister  to  be  mistress  of 
the  fine  old  mansion  he  had  bought.  Altogether, 
he  was  an  eligible  "parti"  in  Rhoda's  eyes;  any 
regret  for  the  loss  of  Hubert  Marshall  died  an 
early  death. 

The  girls  were  still  busied  in  the  kitchen  when 
George  Drew  rode  into  the  yard.  Perceiving 
Rhoda  at  the  open  window,  he  boldly  approached, 
leaned  his  arms  on  the  sill,  deluging  her  with  com- 
pliments on  her  skill,  her  industry,  her  beautiful 
arms  which  were  bared  for  her  work. 

"Margaret  sent  me  over  to  ask  you  all  to  join 
us  in  getting  up  a  picnic  to  'The  Slaughters' 
next  week,"  he  remarked,  when  Rhoda  had,  with 
much  common-sense,  parried  his  compliments. 

"  Oh,  charming !  "  cried  she.  "  Marta,  do  run 
up  and  ask  Reginald  to  come  down  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

Mr.  Reece  had  an  office  fitted  up  for  his  own 
convenience  in  the  same  wing  with  the  Proph- 


AT    "THE    HOLLIES.  93 

et's  Chamber.  Marta  gave  her  message  ;  then, 
taking  a  sun-bonnet,  went  out  into  the  garden. 
An  hour  elapsed  before  she  saw  George  Drew 
ride  away  down  the  lane. 


94  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   LOVERS'    WALK. 

A  WEEK  followed  of  unusual  dryness  and 
heat.  Thomas,  who  represented  the  "  oldest 
inhabitant,"  said,  "as  how  he  never  remembered 
nothin'  like  it  in  all  his  born  days."  Reginald  de- 
clared that  the  very  thought  of  business  pros- 
trated him,  and  he  should  devote  his  mind  to 
study,  as  long  as  Marta  was  there  to  assist  him. 
Marta  was  a  fair  linguist,  well  read  in  French  and 
Italian.  Reginald,  with  no  talent  for  language, 
was  struggling  with  the  construction  of  "  Le  Cid." 
Their  favourite  spot  for  this  study  was  the  Moss 
Cottage.  They  set  out  early,  —  Marta  with  her 
sun-bonnet,  its  long  curtain  protecting  her  shoul- 
ders ;  Reginald  carying  the  gig  umbrella,  large 
enough  to  shelter  a  family.  They  passed  through 
the  garden  where  sweet,  old-fashioned  flowers 
flared  in  the  sunshine,  filling  the  air  with  fra- 
grance. Dick  and  Milly  were  at  play  in  the  bar- 
ley-field, gobbling  at  the  old  turkey,  the  despot  of 
the  barn-yard,  which,  having  escaped  old  Sukey's 
clutch,  was  now  a  gentleman  at  large.  After 
crossing  the  garden,  a  door  appeared  in  the  stone 


THE  LOVERS'  WALK.  95 

wall.  Reginald  unbolted  it,  and  they  passed  from 
the  sunny  garden  into  complete  shade.  Here  and 
there  were  rural  benches  and  stone  seats.  "Le 
Cid "  was  half  finished  before  the  cousins  ar- 
rived at  the  Moss  Cottage ;  then,  after  a  casual 
glance  into  its  dark  interior,  they  preferred  the 
seats  in  the  alley.  Reginald  had  not  noticed  that 
Marta's  eyes  lingered  on  the  coloured  panes  of  glass 
where  their  names,  as  children,  had  been  scribbled 
from  time  immemorial,  or  that  she  had  read  a  new 
name,  in  bold  writing,  "  Margaret  Drew."  It  was 
written  close  beside  her  own  childish,  round  hand 
of  years  ago.  Marta  was  hurt  that  a  stranger 
should  have  intruded  her  name  amongst  these 
records  of  childhood.  Her  heart  was  too  full  for 
her  to  heed  Reginald's  reading,  and  he  stopped, 
surprised  not  to  hear  some  severe  remarks  on  his 
Saxon  pronunciation. 

"I  would  not  have  let  her  write  her  name 
there,"  said  she. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ? "  Then  he  understood, 
and  coloured  with  annoyance. 

"  It  makes  common  what  is  sacred  to  our  child- 
ish days,"  continued  Marta. 

Reginald  could  not  conceive  how  the  brilliant, 
aristocratic  Miss  Drew  could  make  a  pane  of  glass 
common  by  inscribing  her  name  thereupon. 

"  She  comes  from  a  different  world,"  said  Marta. 
"  Besides,  do  you  remember  the  trouble  we  had  in 
climbing  up  outside  to  write  our  names  with  aunt 
De  Clifford's  diamond  ? " 


96  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

No ;  Reginald  had  forgotten  the  incident.  He 
could  remember  more  easily  how  beautiful  Mar- 
garet had  looked  as  she  wrote,  how  mercilessly 
she  had  laughed  at  the  other  signatures,  notably 
Marta's  round  hand.  He,  too,  had  laughed  with- 
out any  sensitive  feeling  in  the  matter. 

He  now  closed  "  Le  Cid  "  with  a  bang ;  and,  as 
Milly  and  Dick  climbed  over  the  wall,  and  threw 
themselves  on  Marta,  he  strolled  away.  He  felt 
uncomfortably  sure  that  the  relation  between 
Marta  and  himself  was  changing ;  she  who  had 
been  wont  to  receive  his  opinion  as  final,  had  sud- 
denly assumed  the  rdle  of  critic,  and  shown  dis- 
approval of  him. 

Reginald  wanted  to  serve  two  masters.  He 
wanted  to  stand  first  in  Marta's  regard,  but  re- 
jected the  sole  means  of  attaining  that  end,  —  the 
straight  path  of  rectitude.  Briefly,  he  desired  the 
world's  admiration,  his  motive  power  was  expe- 
diency. Even  his  marriage  must  be  governed  by 
this  power :  certainly  a  man  of  his  ability  ought 
to  be  well  mated.  He  intended  to  gain  the  admi- 
ration of  the  Forest  world  by  the  wisdom  of  his 
choice.  Lately  he  had  been  mortified  to  find  that 
his  heart,  or  some  sensitive  part  of  his  spiritual 
economy,  rebelled  against  this  journey  on  the  road 
of  expediency.  He  was  attracted  by  the  brilliancy 
and  wealth  of  Margaret,  but  he  loved  Marta.  As 
he  paced  the  shady  walk,  he  glanced  gloomily  at 
the  picture  she  made  sitting  on  the  rough  stones, 


THE  LOVERS'  WALK.  97 

the  children  clinging  to  her,  Milly  on  her  knee, 
chubby  Dick  with  his  arm  round  her  neck.  The 
sun-bonnet  had  slipped  from  her  head,  the  shining 
coils  of  hair  made  a  fitting  crown  for  the  Madonna 
face.  Had  it  come  to  this  ?  Would  his  life  be  in- 
complete without  Marta  ?  Surely  not ;  he  was  no 
romantic  fool  to  set  the  whole  happiness  of  his 
life  upon  one  throw  of  the  dice.  Expediency 
pointed  out  the  advantages  of  taking  a  woman  of 
the  world  with  a  large  dower  to  wife.  Marta  had 
no  fortune ;  her  father  had  been  a  dilettante  man 
of  letters ;  her  mother's  relatives  in  Flanders  were 
unknown,  and  she  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her 
relatives  at  Heaven's  Gate.  Reginald  wanted  his 
wife  to  be  his  entirely.  Margaret  made  no  pre- 
tence of  love  for  her  brother ;  she  assumed  herself 
to  be  heartless.  Of  course  she  would  be  devoted 
to  her  husband,  he  should  expect  that  of  her.  He 
had  been  first  in  his  Forest  circle  too  long  to  take 
into  consideration  that  either  or  both  ladies  might 
refuse  the  honour  he  intended  to  confer.  Mill 
remarks,  with  reference  to  marriage,  "The  true 
virtue  of  human  beings  is  their  fitness  to  live 
together  as  equals."  Reginald,  accustomed  to 
feel  himself  superior,  did  not  expect  an  equal  in 
his  wife. 

His  thoughts  were  still  in  a  chaotic  condition 
when  Rhoda  brought  Margaret  and  George  Drew 
into  the  Lovers'  Walk.  Amidst  the  fun  and 
laughter  which  seemed  to  pervade  them  as  an 


98  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

atmosphere,  Marta  gladly  withdrew,  climbed  over 
the  low  wall,  and  went  with  the  children  to  pick 
flowers  and  peaches,  afterwards  consenting  to  sit 
in  the  boat  and  be  rowed  over  the  pond.  Reginald 
was  angry  ;  for  he  saw  she  disapproved  of  the  loud, 
fast  style  of  conversation  in  which  the  Drews  in- 
dulged. George  Drew  was  attracted  by  Marta's 
quiet  beauty,  and  surprised  at  her  persistent 
withdrawal  from  his  presence. 

"Is  not  Miss  De  Clifford  very  shy  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Marta  shy  ?  No,  indeed ! "  cried  Rhoda.  "  The 
children  adore  her,  and  are  always  dragging  her 
about.  See  there  !  they  have  got  her  in  the  boat." 

"  How  lovely  she  is  !  "  cried  Margaret,  suddenly. 
"  What  a  Madonna  face !  Make  her  come  back, 
Rhoda,  I  want  to  know  her." 

"  Come  down  to  the  pond,"  said  Rhoda. 

When  they  arrived  there,  however,  Margaret 
insisted  on  getting  into  the  boat,  —  Reginald  must 
row  her,  —  then,  when  in  deep  water,  she  leaned 
over  to  see  her  shadow,  thereby  endangering  both 
their  lives.  Reginald  gravely  assured  her  that 
the  pond  was  sixteen  feet  deep,  and  he  could  not 
swim.  If  the  boat  overturned,  both  must  be 
drowned.  He  spoke  in  vain,  she  moved  so  reck- 
lessly that  more  than  once  the  water  splashed 
over  the  gunwale. 

"Row  back  to  land,  Reginald,"  called  Marta's 
clear  voice. 

He  looked  relieved  as  he  obeyed.     When  they 


THE    LOVERS'    WALK.  C)t) 

landed,  Margaret  was  angry,  and  looked  with 
haughty  displeasure  at  Marta,  who  was  perfectly 
unmoved  by  it,  her  own  expression  being  a  little 
stern. 

"Were  you  frightened?"  Margaret  asked  coldly. 

"The  water  is  upwards  of  twenty  feet  deep, 
fed  by  springs,  so  it  is  very  cold." 

"  But  I  can  swim  like  a  fish." 

"  Could  you  have  pulled  me  out  as  well  as  your- 
self ?  "  asked  Reginald,  laughing  grimly.  "  I  can- 
not swim.  I  could  never  be  in  the  water  long 
enough  to  learn." 

"  He  gets  cramp,"  said  Marta  in  Margaret's 
ear. 

Reginald  shrugged  his  shoulders  :  woman  was 
created  to  consider  others  before  herself.  He  saw 
a  flaw  for  the  first  time  in  this  new  type  of 
womanhood. 

During  this  episode,  George  had  been  giving 
very  half-hearted  attention  to  Rhoda.  His  eyes 
roved  to  Marta  as  she  stood  too  intent  on  the 
boat  to  be  conscious  of  his  presence.  Her  abso- 
lute indifference  gave  him  an  unwonted  desire  for 
conquest.  He  felt  sure  of  Rhoda,  and  desired  a 
pause  before  committing  himself  further ;  his  shal- 
low mind  was  bent  on  charming  Marta. 

"  Do  keep  that  dreadful  man  from  boring  me  to 
death  with  small  talk,"  cried  Marta,  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

Rhoda  was  sulking  at  George's  desertion.  She 
revived. 


IOO  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Don't  you  like  him,  Marta  ? " 

"  I  can't  endure  him.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  say 
something  very  severe  to  him  if  he  continues  his 
stupid  compliments." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Rhoda.  "You  are  too  hard, 
Marta.  You  know  that  is  a  fault  with  you.  I  will 
do  my  best,  however." 

The  Drews  stayed  to  dinner ;  Margaret  kept 
every  one  laughing  at  her  witty  stories.  Marta 
noticed  that  her  plate  went  away  untasted ;  her 
manner  was  that  of  one  living  on  excitement. 
The  merriment  seemed  forced,  and  jarred  on 
Malta's  quiet  mood,  and  the  unrest  of  Margaret's 
manner  indicated  something  below  the  surface. 
By  intuition,  Marta  read  mental  suffering,  —  some 
cankering  trouble  which  was  eating  away  her 
heart.  She  resolved  to  try  and  show  her  that  she 
wished  her  well,  and  was  ready  and  willing  to  help 
her  by  sympathy  with  her  sorrow,  whatever  it 
might  be. 

A  ride  was  proposed  after  dinner.  All  the 
young  people  mounted,  and  rode  off  into  the  For- 
est, pursued  by  the  entreaties  of  Mr.  Reece  to 
ride  slowly.  They  humoured  him  by  walking 
down  the  lane  until  out  of  sight  of  the  house ; 
then,  all  four  abreast,  followed  by  Dick  and  Milly 
on  small  ponies,  galloped  away  towards  the  Speech 
House. 

The  Speech  House  is  an  old  hostelrie  where  the 
Forest  Parliament  was  held ;  that  is,  Forest  laws 


THE    LOVERS     WALK.  101 

were  made,  tried,  enforced,  within  these  four  walls. 
The  first  house  was  burnt  down  and  rebuilt  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.  The  date,  1680,  is  carved  in 
the  stone  over  the  portal.  One  room  is  set  apart 
for  the  law  court ;  its  walls  and  floors  are  of  oak, 
nearly  black  with  age.  A  raised  platform  for  the 
judges  is  railed  off  from  the  rest  of  the  room.  The 
walls  are  adorned  with  the  antlers  of  the  fallow 
deer,  fifty  years  since  still  to  be  found  in  the  For- 
est. Magnificent  beeches,  oaks,  and  hollies  rear 
their  noble  heads  near  by ;  pigs  devour  the 
acorns  ;  sheep  idly  nibble  the  short  grass  ;  Forest 
colts  stand  under  the  trees,  tail  to  head,  slashing 
their  long  tails  back  and  forth  to  keep  off  the  flies, 
little  dreaming  of  a  future  underground  in  the 
pits. 

"  Gently,  down  the  hill,"  called  Reginald,  draw- 
ing rein.  George  Drew  cleverly  rode  up  to  Marta's 
side,  monopolizing  her  attention.  He  began  by 
introducing  serious  subjects  leading  to  the  irre- 
sistible topic,  —  himself.  Seen  from  his  own  stand- 
point, his  was  a  deeply  interesting  character,  above 
the  ordinary  in  natural  gifts,  but  too  lacking  in 
self-love  to  make  the  most  of  such  abundance. 

Marta  listened  politely,  contrasting  her  compan- 
ion with  the  modest  William,  the  unselfish  Craw- 
ford. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said,  when  remark  was  nec- 
essary, "we  Forest  folk  are  simple  and  practical. 
We  believe  in  the  old  saw,  '  Handsome  is  as  hand- 
some does.' " 


IO2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"Ah,  exactly!"  said  George  Drew,  mentally 
crushed.  He  looked  so  crestfallen  that  Marta  re- 
gretted her  severity.  There  was  little  variety  in 
her  nature ;  she  went  from  the  extreme  of  loving- 
kindness  to  intolerance  and  sternness.  Happily, 
Dick  and  Milly  made  a  diversion  by  galloping  past 
at  breakneck  speed. 

"You  young  ruffians,"  laughed  Reginald,  "you 
will  kill  your  ponies." 

Dick's  merry  laugh  was  contagious ;  and  Mar- 
garet, who  had  listened  to  part  of  her  brother's 
monologue,  with  scornful  eyes  scrutinizing  Marta's 
face  as  if  to  read  some  insincere  expression  of  in- 
terest written  thereon,  now  motioned  to  George 
to  ride  on,  while  she  took  his  place. 

"  Is  he  not  an  egotist  ? "  she  said.  "  I  tell  him 
he  idolizes  himself.  But  he  has  some  good  points, 
just  those  qualities  which  have  escaped  his  notice." 

"  He  is  very  kind  and  obliging,"  said  Marta, 
with  a  gallant  effort  to  be  polite. 

Margaret  laughed  with  amusement,  —  laughed 
again,  very  scornfully  too,  at  the  grumbling  of  the 
gentlemen  at  two  ladies  riding  together.  Totally 
careless  of  their  feelings,  she  permitted  none 
within  earshot.  At  first  she  spoke  sensibly,  and 
made  herself  very  agreeable  to  Marta ;  presently, 
however,  her  mood  changed  ;  she  became  bitter 
and  sarcastic,  railing  against  every  thing  in  life. 
She  possessed  inimitable  power  of  mimickry,  which 
she  used  with  cruel  freedom.  Marta  had  never 


THE    LOVERS     WALK.  1 03 

heard  such  flippant,  giddy  words  before.  She  sat 
quite  silent ;  judging  by  her  stern  rebuke  to 
George,  Margaret  expected,  nay,  perhaps  desired, 
some  such  reproof ;  but  none  came.  Was  Marta 
too  much  shocked  to  speak  ?  She  scanned  the 
sweet  face  with  a  bitter,  satirical  smile.  Marta 
met  the  glance  without  any  sternness  of  expres- 
sion. 

"How  silent  you  are !  I  have  shocked  you. 
But,  O  Lord  !  how  dull  life  is  anyhow !  How  in- 
tolerable without  free  use  of  the  tongue !  " 

" A  jewel  may  lie  hidden  in  a  mass  of  ctibris" 
said  Marta,  under  her  breath. 

"  An  enigma !  I  cannot  guess  enigmas  ;  do  not 
expect  it  of  me,"  cried  Margaret,  a  sudden  rush 
of  colour  rising  to  her  brow,  showing  how  quickly 
she  had  understood. 

"When  I  know  you  better,"  said  Marta,  "I 
shall  find  the  jewel ;  it  is  not  far  below  the  sur- 
face. I  feel  you  are  good  and  noble,  capable  of 
grand  things,  such  as  only  very  fine  characters  can 
achieve." 

"Hush!"  cried  Margaret,  sharply.  "You  will 
kill  me,  if  you  are  kind  to  me.  Say  something 
hard,  as  you  did  to  George.  Quick,  child !  Do 
you  not  see  I  am  going  to  cry  ? " 

"  Tears  will  help  you.  Do  not  restrain  them," 
said  Marta,  lovingly. 

"Tears?"  said  Margaret,  bitterly.  "No;  not 
such  tears  as  mine.  They  fall  scalding  hot,  and 


IO4  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

blister  my  heart  till  it  feels  raw,  and  winces  at 
each  one  that  falls." 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  and,  with  great  effort,  con- 
trolled her  face  ;  but  it  turned  to  marble  whiteness. 

"Your  words  have  no  sting  for  me,"  she  went 
on,  turning  her  face  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  If  I 
have  hurt  you,  dear,  forgive  me.  Do  not  hate  me, 
as  all  women  so  readily  do." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Marta,  "you  attract 
me.  I  am  more  likely  to  love  than  hate  you." 

"  You  are  unlike  other  women,"  said  Margaret. 
"  Perhaps  you  may  succeed.  But,  alas  !  dear  child, 
those  I  love  most  I  often  hurt  the  worst." 

"  Forewarned  is  forearmed,"  said  Marta  cheer- 
fully. "I  think  any  one  who  loved  you  would 
have  patience  with  your  change  of  moods." 

"  I  used  to  be  so  different,"  began  Margaret, 
then  checked  herself.  "  O  Marta !  what  will  you 
think  of  the  Drew  family  ?  First  George,  then 
myself,  talking  in  this  egotistical  manner." 

"  You,  at  any  rate,  are  no  egotist,"  said  Marta. 

"  Lord  knows  that  is  true,"  said  she,  laughing 
bitterly. 

On  their  return,  Margaret  invited  herself  to 
"The  Hollies,"  to  stay  during  Marta's  visit. 
Every  one  was  charmed  by  this  condescension  ; 
and,  brilliant  and  bright  as  a  fire-fly,  she  woke  up 
the  sleepy,  dreamy  old  place,  bringing  the  hum 
and  buzz  of  the  world  into  its  charmed  precincts. 


THE  LOVERS'  WALK.  105 

She  soon  observed  that,  though  Reginald  paid  her 
most  devoted  attention,  he  had  eyes  and  ears  for 
Marta,  and  was  unmistakably  jealous  of  George 
Drew's  persistent  efforts  to  monopolize  her. 

"Marta  is  too  good  for  him,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  He  only  cares  for  himself :  he  shall  not  marry 
her."  With  a  few  efforts  she  made  Reginald  her 
slave,  —  amusing  herself  with  impaling  his  heart, 
or,  rather,  the  dense  ossification  surrounding  it. 

She  joined  the  French  studies,  broke  into  every 
tete-d-tete,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  made  time  fly 
with  her  merry  moods.  She  was  seldom  still  for 
five  minutes,  often  seeming  to  rush  into  the  mad- 
dest escapades  simply  to  occupy  herself.  Night 
was  a  time  of  horror  to  her ;  she  slept  little,  and 
the  hours  must  be  passed  in  silence.  Sometimes, 
in  the  small  hours,  she  would  come  like  a  ghost  to 
Marta's  room,  and  beg  for  a  share  of  her  couch. 

"  I  cannot  sleep,"  she  would  say.  "  Let  me  be 
near  you,  sweet." 

She  would  lie  and  watch  Marta's  calm  repose :  it 
held  a  fascination  for  her.  Margaret,  in  her  misery, 
had  no  religious  faith  to  sustain  her,  —  no  God,  no 
Christ.  Marta,  on  the  contrary,  lived  by  faith, 
feeling  God's  hand  directed  her  life,  God's  strength 
sustained  her  in  trouble,  God's  will  was  her  will. 
Margaret's  half-mocking  attitude  to  religion  had 
caused  the  report  that  she  was  an  infidel.  Are 
there  not  many  suffering  souls  faithless  because 
their  souls  demand  more  than  experience  shows  to 


io6  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

be  the  outcome  of  religion  ?  Margaret  would  have 
fallen  at  Christ's  feet  to  ask  him  in  her  agony  of 
spirit,  had  he  been  present  in  the  flesh,  "  Tell 
me,  is  there  a  God  ?  Does  he  care  that  I  suffer  ? 
Why  must  I  live  on  to  be  so  wretched  ?  Does  he 
know  any  thing  about  me  ? " 

This  was  the  merry,  madcap  Margaret. 

One  afternoon  the  party  sheltered  in  the  Moss 
Cottage  from  a  slight  storm.  When  the  rain 
ceased,  they  waited  for  the  sunshine  to  dry  the 
alley,  amusing  themselves  with  reading  the  names 
on  the  lattice  panes,  and  in  examining  the  old 
moth-eaten  Bible  which  had  been  laid  on  that 
table  by  the  great-grandfather  a  hundred  years  ago. 

"  He  was  found  dead,  his  hand  on  the  open 
page,"  said  Reginald.  "He  came  here  twice  daily 
to  read." 

Just  then  Dick  opened  the  door  for  a  new-comer. 

There  was  a  glad  shout  of  welcome.  George 
Drew  exclaimed,  — 

"  Well,  Herly !  Glad  to  meet  you  again  after 
so  many  years." 

Margaret's  face  gleamed  white  in  the  dark  cot- 
tage ;  she  put  out  her  hand  in  silence.  Dr.  Herly 
bowed,  not  seeing  the  action ;  his  eyes  were  not 
accustomed  to  the  dim  light.  Margaret  slipped 
out  into  the  wet  avenue,  and  sat  down  on  one  of 
the  stone  seats.  Marta  followed  her. 

"You  are  faint,"  she  said,  shaking  some  rain- 
drops from  a  twig  overhead. 


THE  LOVERS'  WALK.  107 

"  Did  you  see  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  sudden  craving 
for  a  woman's  sympathy.  "  He  would  not  take 
my  hand." 

"  He  did  not  see  it.  He  is  short-sighted,"  she 
replied.  "  He  could  not  be  rude." 

"  He  is  a  man  who  never  forgives  nor  forgets," 
said  Margaret,  "and  I  wounded  him  cruelly  once." 

No  more  was  said,  for  the  party  emerged  from 
the  summer-house. 

"I  was  at  Heaven's  Gate  to-day,"  said  Dr. 
Herly,  his  eyes  on  Margaret,  though  he  spoke  to 
Marta. 

"  Are  all  well  ? " 

"  Very  well,  but  William  gave  me  a  message  for 
you." 

Marta  walked  up  the  alley  with  Dr.  Herly,  ear- 
nestly discussing  William's  future  with  her  friend. 
He  had  received  the  offer  of  a  secretaryship  from 
a  friend  of  Mr.  Selwyn's.  As  no  position  was 
open  to  him  at  the  collieries,  he  wished  to  accept 
this  situation. 

Margaret  roused  herself  to  one  of  her  wildest 
moods  ;  the  old  rocks  rang  with  noise. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  garden  where  we  can  be 
quiet,"  she  heard  Dr.  Herly  say,  as  they  left  the 
alley. 

Would  it  be  wise  to  send  William  to  London  ? 
Question  enough  in  this  to  keep  the  friends  in 
close  converse.  Poor,  jealous  Margaret  rattled  on 
to  hide  her  misery.  When  the  tea-bell  rang,  Dr. 


loS  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

Herly  pleaded  an  excuse,  and  refused  to  come  in. 
As  he  bade  the  party  adieu,  he  went  up  to  Marga- 
ret, who  was  carelessly  pulling  a  rose  to  pieces. 

"  You  are  well,  I  hope.  You  used  not  to  be  so 
pale." 

"  I  am  well,"  she  replied.  They  stood  silent, 
looking  at  one  another,  each  striving  to  suppress 
all  signs  of  feeling.  Margaret  yawned,  and  looked 
at  her  watch. 

"It  is  late,"  she  said.  "You  will  get  no  supper 
in  town." 

When  Rhoda  pressed  him  a  moment  later  to 
stay,  he  accepted  the  invitation.  He  did  not  di- 
rectly address  Margaret  again,  however,  though 
Marta  could  see  that  nothing  concerning  her 
escaped  his  notice. 


THE   PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS."        109 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   PICNIC   TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS." 

MARGARET  made  wholesale  preparations  for 
the  picnic  ;  delicacies  by  the  cart-load  were 
packed  by  her  busy  hands.  George's  French 
cook  was  required  to  exhaust  his  repertoire  for  the 
occasion.  Margaret  invited  guests  in  the  same 
indiscriminate  fashion,  much  to  the  disgust  of  her 
friends,  who  could  not  understand  how  such  an 
aristocrat  should  choose  to  ask  a  poor  little  dress- 
maker and  Jones  the  chemist,  with  his  large  family, 
and  many  others  as  obscure. 

"  Never  mind,  Rhoda,"  cried  Margaret  to  her 
remonstrances.  "When  you  go  to  Heaven,  you 
can  ask  the  angel  Gabriel  to  give  you  a  corner  for 
self  and  friends,  and  explain  that  you  cannot  be 
happy  in  a  place  where  a  dressmaker  also  could  be 
happy.  For  my  part,  I  enjoy  the  company  of 
workers  sometimes ;  and  I  mean  to  see  that  my 
friends  enjoy  themselves  to-day." 

The  preparations  were  finished,  and  the  girls, 
with  Reginald,  were  strolling  down  the  lane  under 
the  overarching  chestnuts. 

"  Most  picnics  divide  up  into  sections   of   two 


I  IO  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

and  two,  like  the  animals  marching  into  Noah's 
ark,"  said  Reginald,  laughing.  "That  is  the  best 
of  a  picnic." 

"Reginald!"  called  Rhoda,  from  the  garden. 
"William  has  come,  and  is  breaking  in  the  bay 
colt  for  a  quiet  amusement." 

"  He  is  more  likely  to  break  his  own  neck," 
cried  he,  rushing  off  to  the  house. 

The  girls  walked  on  silently,  until,  at  last,  Mar- 
garet said,  — 

"  Marta,  when  you  bury  your  dead  from  sight, 
and  they  arise  and  haunt  you  with  their  devilish 
'  might  have  beens,'  what  are  you  to  do  ? " 

"They  cannot,"  said  Marta,  trying  to  catch  her 
meaning.  "  The  dead  cannot  haunt  you." 

"  You  are  wrong ;  the  dead  arise  stronger,  more 
powerful,  for  their  enforced  rest.  They  rend 
your  heart,  crying,  '  Surfer !  Attempt  not  to  lay 
us  at  rest  again  :  we  live  forever.  Expect  no  more 
repose,  —  suffer ! ' ' 

"  Margaret ! " 

"  Listen,  Marta  !  I  have  tried  to  pray,  but  I  am 
too  wicked.  My  whole  soul  rises  in  rebellion 
against  my  cruel  sufferings.  I  ask  merely,  what 
further  torment  lies  in  store  for  me." 

Marta's  reply  was  unheeded,  for  William  gal- 
loped past  on  the  colt,  his  happy  face  flashing  with 
laughter.  Margaret's  mood,  at  present  reckless  of 
aught  save  mental  suffering,  seized  upon  this  fresh 
excitement.  She  could,  she  would,  ride  the  un- 


THE    PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS.  Ill 

tamed  animal.  William  was  too  polite  to  refuse, 
and  rode  back  to  change  the  saddle.  When  he 
returned,  Margaret  mounted,  leaped  over  the 
hedge  into  the  meadow,  and  struggled  there  for 
mastery.  The  frightened  animal  tore  round  the 
meadow,  kicked,  reared  and  leaped  from  side  to 
side.  Margaret  laughed ;  she  was  amused.  Her 
hat  blew  away  ;  her  loosened  hair  waved  and  curled 
in  rich  brown  masses,  lashing  the  horse's  hind- 
quarters as  she  galloped  on.  Her  eyes  sparkled 
wildly,  and  her  keenly  cut  features  were  almost 
stern  with  determination  to  master  the  aimless 
colt. 

Reginald  came  running  to  the  field,  accompa- 
nied by  Dr.  Herly.  The  scene  terrified  them,  but 
how  could  they  put  a  stop  to  this  mad  struggle  ? 
Dr.  Herly  darted  forward,  placing  himself  directly 
in  her  path.  She  must  draw  rein,  or  ride  over  him. 
Reginald  seized  the  bit,  despite  the  rearing  and 
plunging  of  the  colt,  and  held  it,  while  Margaret 
entreated  permission  for  one  more  gallop. 

"It  is  like  flying  on  the  wind,"  she  cried. 
"There  is  no  danger." 

In  the  midst  of  her  speech,  Dr.  Herly  suddenly 
lifted  her  from  the  saddle. 

"  Confine  yourself  to  breaking  hearts,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  as  he  set  her  down.  "  It  is  possible 
they  can  be  mended,  but  a  broken  neck  or  back 
defies  the  hand  of  Time." 

"  If  I  choose  to  break  my  neck  ? "  haughtily. 


I  1 2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Mr.  Reece  would  rather  you  did  not  do  so  on 
his  grounds,"  answered  he,  with  equal  hauteur. 
"  Even  in  committing  suicide,  we  should  avoid  any 
breach  of  manners." 

He  turned  away ;  his  horse  was  tied  to  the  gate 
of  the  field ;  he  mounted,  and  rode  away  without 
another  glance  at  Margaret. 

Marta  came  up  with  Margaret's  hat  in  her  hand. 
Tears  swam  in  her  eyes ;  she  had  been  crying. 

"  Why  do  you  act  so  madly  ? "  she  said,  drawing 
her  to  the  house.  "  Why  do  you  show  your  worst 
side  in  this  way?" 

"  It  amuses  me,"  said  Margaret,  yawning. 
"  Don't  scold,  Marta.  It  is  of  no  use.  I  am  crazy, 
—  dispose  so  of  the  question.  From  the  lunatic 
expect  lunacy." 

She  went  on  in  such  an  absurd,  flighty  manner 
that  Marta  began  to  think  she  really  could  not  be 
quite  sane. 

The  afternoon  was  perfect.  At  three  o'clock  the 
woods  were  ringing  with  the  merry  words  and 
laughter  of  ttie  parties  winding  their  way  to  "  The 
Slaughters."  The  Wye  was  once  the  boundary 
line  between  Saxon  and  fierce  Briton.  "The 
Slaughters "  commemorated  some  bloody  battle, 
in  which  victory  was  to  the  strong ;  the  Briton 
had  to  retire  to  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  the  Welsh 
mountains. 

The  picnic  party  met  with  gay  greeting  on  the 


THE    PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS."          113 

top  of  the  Yat.  Margaret  had  a  carriage-load  of 
her  poor  friends ;  such  an  afternoon  of  delight 
was  heaven  to  these  poor  souls,  whose  daily  lot 
was  drudgery.  She  drove  on  down  the  carriage- 
road,  while  others  climbed  over  the  rocks  till  they 
found  the  path  winding  down  the  cliffs  to  the 
ferry. 

There  in  the  valley,  between  her  wooded  heights, 
ripples  Wye.  Her  musical  monotone  blends  with 
the  roar  of  the  rapids  below  the  ferry.  Every 
wavelet  is  flooded  with  sunshine,  every  shallow 
babbles  its  own  sweet  story,  every  shadow  is  born 
of  rock,  or  fern,  or  tree.  The  coracles  float  on  the 
tide  ;  a  girl  lazily  crosses  the  ferry,  pulling  herself 
over  by  a  rope.  On  the  other  side  of  Wye  some 
men  idly  watch  the  party,  their  barrow  of  stones 
half  turned  over,  their  breakwater,  by  means  of 
which  they  hope  to  keep  their  garden  from  the 
ravages  of  Wye  at  flood-tide,  unfinished.  The 
ferry-boat  approaches,  —  slowly,  slowly,  lumber- 
some,  flat-bottomed  craft,  quaint  and  beautiful  in 
the  grace  of  this  autumn  sunlight  The  party  is 
ready  to  embark,  when  Dr.  Herly  rides  down  the 
cliff  at  breakneck  speed ;  he  beckons  the  ferry- 
man to  wait. 

"  Ladies,"  he  says,  breathlessly,  "  let  Bache  ferry 
me  over.  It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

Before  answer  is  given,  Reginald  has  led  the 
panting  horse  aboard  :  the  other  men  give  the  craft 
a  strong  push  into  mid-stream.  In  silence  they 


114  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

watch  the  impatient  doctor  leap  his  horse  ashore 
and  gallop  out  of  sight. 

"What  is  it,  Bache?"  asks  Reginald. 

"  Little  Joey  'Ancock.  He  'ave  the  croup. 
They  do  say  a  baint  likely  to  live.  A  was  a 
chokin'  when  they  sent  for  the  doctor,"  said  the 
man,  stolidly. 

The  party  began  to  embark.  Jones,  the  chem- 
ist, had  particularly  good  manners,  and  was  polite 
to  the  very  obscure  people,  who  were  getting  more 
than  their  share  of  Margaret's  attention  just  at 
present.  At  last,  all  are  on  board ;  the  oars 
slowly  rise  and  fall  in  the  clear  water.  Rhoda, 
standing  in  the  bow,  with  happy  effect  starts  the 
glee,  — 

"  See  our  oars  with  feathered  spray." 

Every  one  takes  it  up.  The  ancient  hills,  as  if 
amused  to  the  very  echo,  ring  back  and  forth  the 
harmonious  song ;  cling  to  its  sweetness  until  the 
party  has  landed  on  the  other  side.  Then  a  view 
"  halloo !  "  from  the  top  of  the  Yat  surprises  the 
echoes  again  into  vain  repetitions. 

"  Oh  !  those  troublesome  children,"  cries  Rhoda. 
"  We  must  send  back  the  boat  for  them." 

"  We  are  hunting  for  the  oak-leaf  fern,"  shouts 
Dick.  "We  shall  climb  down  opposite  the  Slaugh- 
ters. Send  the  man  across  for  us  there." 

Those  "troublesome  children"  believed  them- 
selves of  the  first  importance  ;  they  did  not  in- 


THE    PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS.  115 

tend  to  be  squeezed  into  corners,  or  put  in  the 
background.  Ferns  were  the  chief  interest  of 
their  lives,  as  Dick  had  made  a  fernery,  and  meant 
to  stock  it  this  afternoon.  He  had  a  bushel- 
basket  on  his  arm  ;  and,  being  fond  of  reptiles,  had 
two  toads,  two  yellow  frogs,  a  blind  worm,  and 
copper-coloured  lizard,  hopping,  crawling,  wrig- 
gling on  a  bed  of  moss  in  the  bottom  of  the 
basket.  The  girls,  —  Milly,  Olga,  and  Jennie,  — 
who  admired  all  he  did,  followed  him  with  ardour, 
climbing  down  precipitous  cliffs  unaided,  while 
Dick  and  the  bushel-basket  had  many  a  roll  and 
tumble.  Arrived  in  safety  at  the  banks  of  the 
river,  they  began  anew  the  hunt  for  the  visionary 
oak-leaf.  At  length  hunger  overcame  their  ar- 
dour. They  wondered  why  no  ferryman  arrived. 
Dick  called  ;  there  was  no  answer.  In  the  silence 
which  followed,  he  cast  a  rueful  look  on  his  com- 
panions, for  the  horn  was  heard. 

"That  is  for  tea,"  said  Milly. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ? "  asked  Dick. 

"  Frightfully  !  "  answered  both  girls  in  a  breath. 

A  rueful  rather  than  hearty  laugh  followed. 

"  Such  a  jolly  tea,"  said  Dick,  in  regretful  tones. 

"  I  wish  you  were  not  so  fond  of  ferns,"  said 
the  girls  together. 

"  I  ain't !  I  hate  'em,"  replied  the  debonair, 
throwing  aside  his  specimens  with  intense  disgust. 
Presently  his  spirits  revived. 

"  If  we  could  wade  across,  we  should  be  there  in 


n6  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

five  minutes,"  he  cried,  taking  off  his  shoes,  and 
rolling  his  trousers  up  to  his  knees.  He  danced 
about  in  the  shallows,  the  water  just  rippling  over 
his  ankles ;  but  Wye  is  treacherous.  His  next 
step  precipitated  him  head  over  heels  in  the  water. 
He  came  to  the  surface  blinking,  but  smiling  ;  and, 
since  he  certainly  could  get  no  wetter,  began  to 
show  off  his  swimming,  —  now  like  a  duck,  now  a 
dog,  now  a  fish,  and  was  just  in  the  glory  of  tread- 
ing water,  when  a  boat  came  round  the  bend  of 
the  river,  in  which  sat  Mr.  Fordyce  and  Reginald. 
Dick  subsided,  came  ashore  dripping  wet,  while 
the  boat  party  went  into  fits  of  laughter  at  his 
sorry  plight.  The  children  were  taken  across  the 
river,  and  Dick  left  the  girls  in  charge  of  the 
bushel-basket,  while  he  ran  to  the  cottage  for  dry 
clothes.  They  hated  reptiles,  but  would  not  have 
lost  one  of  Dick's  for  any  consideration ;  nor 
would  they  touch  a  mouthful  of  the  jolly  tea  till 
their  comrade  was  restored  to  them.  His  reap- 
pearance in  the  ferryman's  Sunday  suit  occasioned 
roars  of  laughter. 

"  Let  'em  laugh,"  said  Dick,  sitting  by  his  com- 
panions, "and  give  me  some  of  that  'scrumptious' 
pigeon-pie." 

Margaret's  eye  was  on  the  dressmaker's  plate. 
All  the  choicest  delicacies  were,  by  her  order, 
handed  to  her  poorer  friends.  The  recital  of  the 
wonderful  things  they  tasted  that  day  was  a  never- 
ceasing  source  of  interest  to  their  circle  hereafter ; 


THE    PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS.  1 1/ 

and  Margaret's  own  hands  packed  a  basket  which 
was  left  with  the  dressmaker  at  her  own  door  that 
evening,  so  that  next  dav  she  had  something  to 
live  on  besides  the  remembrance  of  the  feast. 

"  I  wish  Dr.  Herly  would  come  and  get  some 
tea,"  said  Marta  anxiously,  as  they  rose  from  the 
table. 

"Is  he  anywhere  at  hand ? "  asked  Margaret, 
carelessly. 

"  In  the  cottage  upon  the  cliff  path  ;  did  you 
not  know  ?  "  asked  Rhoda.  "  I  passed  it  before 
tea,  and  could  hear  the  child  choking  terribly." 

"The  boats  are  ready,  ladies,"  said  George 
Drew.  "  Leave  the  baskets :  my  fellow  will  attend 
to  them." 

There  was  a  general  stir,  much  laughing  and 
talking,  and  Margaret,  as  usual,  was  the  gayest  of 
the  party,  making  bright  sallies,  meeting  every  re- 
mark with  a  quick  repartee.  All  were  grouped 
round  her,  when,  all  at  once,  she  became  silent. 
Her  eyes,  dwelling  often  on  that  cottage  on  the 
cliff,  saw  the  door  flung  violently  open,  and  Dr. 
Herly  rapidly  came  down  the  cliff  path. 

"  Hallo,  old  fellow  !  Glad  to  see  you.  How  is 
the  child  ? " 

The  doctor  made  no  answer  ;  he  glanced  over 
the  faces  of  the  ladies  grouped  round  Margaret. 
One  instant  his  gaze  lingered  at  Marta,  then 
passed  on  ;  he  looked  into  Margaret's  eyes. 

"  Can  you  come  ? "  he  said,  quietly. 


n8  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"As  quietly  she  bowed  an  affirmative,  left  the 
group,  and  followed  him.  The  effort  of  climbing 
the  hill  took  all  his  breath.  Margaret  did  not  ask 
a  question.  On  entering  the  cottage,  he  bent  over 
the  little  sufferer,  still  without  telling  Margaret 
what  he  wanted  of  her.  Her  quick  eye  took  in 
the  situation,  —  the  worn-out  mother  in  a  fit  of 
hysterical  crying ;  two  younger  children  hanging  to 
her  skirts,  as  she  ministered  to  their  needs.  The 
doctor  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  know  you  have  nerve.     Come  and  help  me." 

The  child  was  laid  on  the  table,  struggling  for 
breath. 

"  There  is  only  a  chance  for  his  life,  I  am  going 
to  try  it,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  his  instruments. 

"  Let  me  get  the  mother  up-stairs  first,"  said 
Margaret.  How  did  she  manage  it  ?  The  weary 
doctor  looked  on,  relying  on  her  strength  to  ac- 
complish whatsoever  she  tried  to  do  ;  nor  in  vain  ; 
the  woman,  the  two  children,  were  left  in  the  up- 
stairs' chamber.  Margaret  was  at  his  side  again, 
calm  and  observant ;  every  faculty  of  mind  and 
body  on  the  alert  to  be  of  service. 

"  How  little  doctors  can  judge  of  a  woman," 
said  the  astonished  Rhoda.  "  Of  course  Marta 
was  the  most  suitable  person  he  could  have  to 
help  him.  Margaret,  indeed  !  " 

"She  dresses  very  plainly,"  said  a  lady;  "yet 
she  impresses  you  with  the  idea  that  her  surround- 
ings should  be  luxurious." 


THE    PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS.  I IQ 

/ 

The  doctor's  choice  revealed  to  Marta,  however, 
that  he  knew  more  of  Margaret's  character  than 
she  herself,  or  any  one  else  present. 

The  whole  responsibility  of  the  picnic  now 
rested  on  George  Drew,  who  most  ably  supported 
the  burden.  The  best  of  him  came  to  the  fore  in 
his  treatment  of  his  poorer  guests ;  he  manned  a 
boat  with  them,  handed  the  dressmaker  on  board, 
and  devoted  himself  to  their  entertainment.  Small 
boat-races  were  extemporized,  while  quieter  folks 
landed  here  and  there  in  quest  of  ferns  and  flowers. 
As  the  sun  set  and  moon  rose  in  the  clear,  even- 
ing sky,  the  parties  returned  to  the  Slaughters, 
and,  standing  in  a  semicircle,  sang  glees  and 
catches.  A  belated  hunter,  passing  along  the 
cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  Wye,  blew  a  blast  on 
his  bugle  in  greeting.  Cordial  answers  were 
shouted  across,  the  echoes  taking  them  up  in 
laughable  manner.  This  episode  over,  William 
began  to  play  a  country  dance  on  his  violin,  in 
bewitching  manner.  George  Drew  led  out  the 
dressmaker, — an  honour  she  never  forgot, — and 
every  one  was  soon  in  the  spirit  of  the  dance,  and 
who  more  delighted  than  the  children  ?  Reginald 
threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  it,  ignorant  of 
steps  or  figures.  He  turned  with  vigour,  utterly 
devoid  of  skill,  and  bumped  his  partner  against 
every  other  couple  with  a  regularity  which  had  its 
painful  as  well  as  humourous  side. 

Marta  and  Mr.  Fordyce  lingered  under  the  trees 


I2O  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

by  the  river-side,  talking  of  William.  The  vicar 
was  enthusiastic  in  his  praise  of  the  boy's  genius, 
and  modest,  gentle  character.  Then  the  London 
scheme  was  under  discussion ;  would  not  a  fresh 
start,  under  strange  auspices,  give  him  a  better 
chance  of  building  a  stable  character  ?  Then  Mr. 
Fordyce  must  tell  Marta  of  a  chum  of  his,  called 
Marcus,  who  was  doing  such  noble  work  in  Lon- 
don ;  he  would  doubtless  befriend  William.  From 
this  the  talk  merged  into  details  in  his  own  work. 
Marta,  who  knew  the  village  folk  so  well,  could 
give  him  many  a  suggestion,  could  appreciate  his 
up-hill  endeavours  to  help  them.  With  so  much 
to  discuss,  it  is  no  wonder  that  time  sped  on 
wings.  Mrs.  Reece,  and  some  other  matrons,  be- 
came exercised  in  mind  as  to  whether  the  parson 
was  trying  to  convert  Marta  to  his  own  views. 

Reginald,  mean  time,  felt  injured.  Both  the 
ladies,  in  whom  he  felt  an  interest,  had  been 
spirited  away  from  him.  He  lit  a  cigar,  and 
solaced  himself  as  best  he  could,  while  the  merry 
folks  danced  and  enjoyed  themselves. 

"  The  dew  is  falling ;  we  must  go,  children," 
cried  Mr.  Reece. 

"We  will  drive  you  home,"  called  William  to 
Mr.  Fordyce. 

"  I  intended  to  walk,  but  if  you  have  a  seat "  — 

"  Plenty  of  room,"  shouted  William.  "  Come, 
Jennie  and  Olga." 

Carriages   appeared   on   the  other  side   of  the 


THE  PICNIC  TO  "THE  SLAUGHTERS.         121 

river,  and  the  ferryman  carried  parties  across  as 
they  were  ready.  Amongst  the  first  was  Dr. 
Herly. 

"  How  is  the  child  ?  "  asked  Marta. 

"Better,  much  better." 

"Where  is  Margaret?"  cried  George. 

"She  will  stay  with  the  child,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"  Quite  unnecessary,"  cried  Rhoda.  "  We  shall 
not  think  of  leaving  her.  It  was  quite  too  bad  to 
lose  her  from  the  picnic  ;  she  is  the  life  of  the 
party." 

"  Could  not  I  take  her  place  ? "  said  Marta, 
knowing  her  own  powers  as  a  nurse. 

"You?  Certainly  not,"  replied  he,  hastily.  He 
hurried  down  to  the  ferry,  without  waiting  to  reply 
to  the  questions  and  greetings  which  besieged 
him  from  every  side.  The  man  took  him  across  ; 
and,  the  instant  he  landed,  he  mounted  and  spurred 
his  horse  to  a  gallop.  His  heart  beat  fast,  his  eye 
saw  only  the  face  of  the  woman  he  loved,  his  ear 
retained  the  clear  tones  of  her  voice. 

"  I  shall  return  at  midnight,"  he  had  said  to 
Margaret.  "  He  sleeps  now.  You  must  join  your 
party,  which  I  know  is  ready  to  leave." 

"  I  am  going  to  remain,"  said  she,  quietly. 
"  His  mother  must  sleep  to-night.  To-morrow  the 
little  fellow  will  wake  very  fractious ;  she  will  be 
able  then  to  manage  him  better  than  I  can." 

"  True.     But  you  ? "     He  looked  round  the  bare 


122  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

cottage ;  there  was  a  total  absence  of  all  the 
comforts  a  lady  requires. 

"  You  may  remember,  perhaps,"  she  said,  coldly, 
"that  I  am  less  dependent  on  my  surroundings 
than  others." 

"  It  used  to  be  so,"  he  answered ;  "  but  changes 
of  circumstances  often  cause  changes  in  the  habits 
of  life." 

Margaret  coloured ;  her  eyes  flashed  a  look  at 
him,  found  his  face  inscrutable,  and  fell. 

"  It  is  time  for  you  to  start,"  she  said,  presently. 
"  The  dew  is  falling.  You  ought  not  to  run  any 
risks." 

The  doctor  had  been  coughing  incessantly.  His 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  he  looked  very  delicate. 

"A  doctor  cannot  consider  these  things,"  he 
said,  smiling. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you.  There  is  no  cause 
for  delay,  nor  need  you  return  to-night.  I  know 
what  to  do.  I  shall  not  leave  until  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  The  world  has  lost  a  fine  nurse  in  you,  Mar- 
garet," he  said,  regretfully,  as  he  drew  a  silk  scarf 
from  his  pocket  and  proceeded  to  tie  it  round  his 
neck. 

"Cover  your  mouth,"  she  said,  anxiously,  as  she 
opened  the  door,  and  saw  the  mist  rising  from  the 
river. 

"  I  remember,"  he  said,  as  he  obeyed  her,  "  you 
used  to  make  plans  for  being  a  nurse  before  your 
uncle  died." 


THE    PICNIC    TO    "THE    SLAUGHTERS.  123 

"You  mean  before  I,  who  looked  forward  to 
earning  my  own  living,  inherited  a  fortune,"  said 
Margaret,  a  sharp  tone  of  pain  in  her  voice ;  for 
she  was  bitterly  hurt  at  the  insinuation. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  trying  to  read  in  her  im- 
passive face  the  cause  of  that  intonation,  and 
failing.  "That,  of  course,  altered  your  plans." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  replied,  coldly.  "I 
offered  myself  the  next  spring,  but  was  refused 
for  two  reasons." 

"  I  did  you  an  injustice,  Margaret."  He  paused, 
his  eyes  tried  to  read  encouragement  in  hers.  He 
put  out  his  hand,  took  hers,  and  held  it  for  an 
instant. 

"  I  was  too  young,"  said  Margaret,  raising  her 
eyes  to  his,  —  "  only  twenty,  and  they  said  I  must 
wait  five  years  before  making  another  application." 

"  Ah,  yes !  of  course,"  said  he.  Then  he  was 
silent,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face,  which  was  almost 
statuesque  in  its  repose. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  ? "  she  said.  "  It  is  mad- 
ness for  you  to  linger  in  this  mist.  Do  not  be 
persuaded  to  stay  with  the  party  by  the  river-side, 
but  ride  home  quickly." 

"  I  do  not  like  to  leave  you  alone,"  he  said,  with 
a  tender  intonation  of  which  he  was  unconscious. 

"But  I  am  not  the  least  afraid  to  be  left,"  re- 
plied she,  the  colour  for  an  instant  flushing  her 
white  cheek,  and  making  her  very  lovely  with  its 
sudden  warmth.  "  Go  quickly,"  said  she,  laying 


124  HEAVENS    GATE. 

her  hand  for  an  instant  on  his  arm.  With  incon- 
ceivable quickness  he  covered  it  with  his,  and  held 
it  for  a  moment  in  a  close  clasp.  A  fit  of  cough- 
ing interrupted  the  words  he  would  have  spoken, 
and,  when  it  was  over,  it  left  him  breathless  for  a 
few  moments. 

"  You  must  and  shall  go,"  said  Margaret,  open- 
ing the  door.  "  Now,  remember,  I  shall  listen  for 
the  sound  of  your  horse's  hoofs.  I  shall  be  very- 
angry  if  you  linger  by  the  river-side." 

He  had  to  leave,  and  the  words  which  would 
have  healed  Margaret's  sore  heart  were  unspoken, 
—  the  chasm  which  lay  between  them  still  un- 
bridged. 

During  the  night  a  thunder-storm,  with  heavy 
rains,  broke  over  the  Forest.  Early  next  morning 
Margaret's  groom  brought  a  note  for  Dr.  Herly. 
It  ran  thus  :  — 

"  Little  Joey  is  doing  well ;  I  intend  to  remain  here  until 
the  afternoon.  Do  not  come  to  see  him  until  to-morrow." 

The  doctor  put  the  note  in  his  breast;  he  sat 
down  to  breakfast  with  a  sudden  desire  to  eat  and 
grow  strong.  When  he  was  obliged  to  start  on 
his  rounds  he  carefully  protected  himself  from  the 
rain.  The  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him  had 
shown  solicitude  for  his  health.  It  was  as  a 
draught  from  the  elixir  of  life. 


THE   RIDE   TO   TINTERN.  125 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   RIDE   TO   TINTERN. 

AS  time  went  on,  Reginald  saw  with  dismay 
that  the  gulf  widened  between  Marta  and 
himself.  Some  discordant  element  crept  into 
every  conversation,  making  it  easier  to  drop  than 
pursue  the  theme.  She  often  regarded  him  with 
a  calm,  scrutinizing  expression,  as  if  her  eyes  were 
suddenly  opened ;  and  he  was  conscious  that  the 
new  light  thrown  on  his  character  was  unfavour- 
able to  his  wishes.  But,  then  again,  what  were 
his  wishes  ?  Certainly  he  wished  to  stand  first 
with  Marta,  equally  certain  his  desire  for  the  same 
position  with  regard  to  Margaret, — as  difficult  as 
ever  to  make  a  choice  of  one  or  the  other  without 
losing  something  that  he  wanted  in  both.  The 
farther  Marta  retreated  from  him,  the  more  ad- 
mirable did  she  appear,  the  more  keen  his  appre- 
ciation of  her  character,  as  a  "pearl  beyond  price." 
It  can  be  seen,  therefore,  that  the  rides  and  drives 
and  picnics,  which  to  outsiders  appeared  so  festive, 
were  not  occasions  of  unmixed  delight  to  Regi- 
nald. Rhoda  wondered  at  his  lack  of  enthusiasm 


126  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

in  getting  up  the  annual  moonlight  ride  to  Tin- 
tern  Abbey. 

"  The  harvest  moon  will  be  at  its  full  in  a  day 
or  two.  Do  make  th-  arrangements,  Reginald." 

Thus  urged,  he  was  bound  to  comply ;  and  the 
evening  was  fixed  upon  for  the  ride. 

"I  hope  William  is  coming  up,"  said  he  to 
Marta.  "  I  have  begged  him  to  come." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied,  heartily. 

"  Oh !  we  all  want  him.  He  is  the  life  of  the 
party,  and  we  shall  be  singing  in  the  Abbey,"  said 
he,  honest  in  his  appreciation  of  the  genius  which 
made  William  such  a  delightful  companion  on  ex- 
cursions. 

Marta  was  undergoing  a  perfect  siege  from 
George  Drew,  who  was  too  dense  to  believe  that 
the  cold  manner  he  thought  so  perfect  was  in- 
tended to  discourage  his  attentions.  To  quote 
from  himself,  "  he  liked  to  see  a  woman  look  thor- 
ough-bred ; "  he  particularly  admired  the  simple 
elegance  of  Marta's  manner.  She  could  not  have 
gained  her  desire  to  disenchant  him  more  thor- 
oughly than  by  accepting  his  attentions  graciously. 
He  had  been  angled  after  so  often  that  he  was 
charmed  for  the  nonce  to  turn  angler. 

When  the  hour  came  for  the  moonlight  ride,  he 
begged  Marta  to  come  and  see  a  favourite  horse  of 
his  now  waiting  at  the  door,  and,  when  she  com- 
plied, told  her  it  was  a  perfect  ladies'  horse,  and 
that  he  hoped  she  would  ride  him  this  evening. 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  I2/ 

Marta  was  firm  in  declining.  She  knew  her  uncle 
would  not  have  allowed  her  to  do  so ;  besides 
which,  she  had  no  coquetry  of  disposition  ;  she 
wished  George  Drew  to  understand  her  dislike  of 
his  attentions. 

The  phaeton  was  already  starting,  in  which  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Reece  were  seated,  and  Rhoda  came  to 
the  door  in  her  habit.  Anxious  to  make  Marta 
jealous,  George  entreated  her  to  ride  his  horse. 
The  next  instant  she  was  in  the  saddle,  had  ridden 
after  her  mother  to  ask  permission,  and  came  gal- 
loping back  in  triumph,  looking  beautiful  in  the 
refining  light  of  the  harvest  moon. 

Marta  ran  up  to  her  room  to  dress.  Margaret 
was  there. 

"  I  came  in  here,"  she  said,  "for  a  few  minutes' 
talk  with  you.  I  do  not  like  the  set  of  men  George 
has  brought  with  him.  I  was  wrong  to  leave  him 
alone  and  come  here,  but  I  wanted  to  be  with  you, 
Marta.  I  told  him  just  now  to  send  the  men 
away  as  soon  as  he  can,  for  I  shall  return  to- 
morrow." 

"  Will  they  go  ? "  asked  Marta,  who  was  hur- 
riedly putting  on  her  habit. 

"  Yes,  they  will  go.  But  I  fancy  they  intend  to 
have  a  night  of  it  first.  I  heard  something  about 
getting  up  a  card-party  to  remain  at  Tintern  at 
the  little  inn  there,  while  the  rest  of  us  come 
home." 

"  It  would  be  a  great  breach  of  good  manners," 
said  Marta. 


128  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Yes.  I  have  spoken  to  George  very  severely 
about  it.  He  has  promised  not  to  join  in  it  him- 
self, and  to  do  all  he  can  to  keep  the  others  from 
carrying  out  their  plan." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Marta  began  to  un- 
derstand Margaret's  reason  for  telling  her  this. 
A  look  passed  between  them,  and  Marta' s  face 
turned  white  to  the  very  lips. 

"  I  wish  we  were  not  going  to-night,"  she  said, 
hopelessly. 

"  I  blame  myself  for  leaving  George  alone,"  said 
Margaret.  "  It  could  not  have  happened,  but  for 
that." 

Oppressed  with  anxious  forebodings,  they  went 
down-stairs.  William  was  awaiting  them,  his  beau- 
tiful face  bright  with  happiness.  He  was  soon  the 
centre  of  the  men  George  had  brought,  who  were 
delighted  to  find  such  an  amusing  companion  in 
the  dull  Forest  world. 

At  a  window  near  by  stood  Mr.  Fordyce,  his 
watchful  eye  on  the  group,  his  spirit  roused  like  a 
war-horse  hearing  the  bugle  sound  for  battle. 
Marta's  anxious  face  grew  brighter  as  she  saw 
him.  And,  in  answer  to  his  eager  greeting,  — 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  ? "  she  said,  softly. 

"Come  and  look  at  the  beautiful  moonlight,"  he 
said,  leading  her  to  a  distant  window,  and  looking 
as  if  his  whole  mind  was  occupied  with  the  com- 
ing excursion. 

Marta  rapidly  repeated  what  Margaret  had  told 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN. 

her,  then  paused  with  a  look  at  William,  who  was 
already  "hail-fellow  well  met  "  with  the  men. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  quietly. 
"  Put  aside  your  fears;  and  enjoy  your  ride.  Where 
William  goes  to-night,  I  follow ;  if  he  remains  at 
Tintern,  I,  too,  shall  remain.  Are  you  afraid  to 
trust  him  with  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  how  good  you  are!"  cried  Marta,  clasping 
his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  His  other  hand  as  quickly 
covered  hers. 

It  seemed  to  Marta  as  if  she,  drowning,  had 
found  dry  land  beneath  her  feet,  there  was  so 
much  strength  in  that  close  clasp. 

"It  is  my  work,"  he  smiled,  "and  —  I  love  the 
lad.  Promise  me  you  will  not  be  anxious  any 
more.  If  I  think  you  are  not  enjoying  yourself,  I 
shall  feel  you  do  not  trust  me." 

"Oh!"  cried  Marta,  with  shining  eyes,  "you 
are  God's  good  angel  to  William." 

"  Should  not  the  strong  help  the  weak  ?  Now 
let  me  see  you  smile  before  I  set  about  my  battle 
royal  with  those  emissaries  of  Satan." 

Under  cover  of  the  thick  curtains  he  lifted  the 
hands  he  held  to  his  lips,  held  Marta's  sweet  eyes 
spellbound  for  an  instant  under  his  own  eloquent 
glance,  then  left  her  to  join  the  noisy  group.  Mar- 
garet came  over  and  sat  down  by  Marta. 

"Do  not  be  anxious,"  whispered  the  latter. 
"Mr.  Fordyce  will  take  care  of  William." 

Margaret   gave   one    quick   glance    at    Marta's 


I3O  HEAVENS    GATE. 

shining  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks  ;  then  she,  too, 
gave  all  her  attention  to  the  vicar's  manoeuvres. 

He  had  gained  William's  side,  and  was  now 
standing  with  his  arm  linked  in  his,  laughing  at 
his  gay  sallies,  and  then,  catching  the  moment, 
related  in  a  witty  manner  some  recollection  of 
college-life.  This  led  to  William's  boast  that  his 
friend  had  been  stroke-oar  in  one  of  the  boat-races 
between  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  The  men  sur- 
veyed his  athletic  proportions  with  intense  inter- 
est. Question  followed  question  on  the  incidents 
of  the  race. 

"Now,  then,  time  to  start:  eight  o'clock,  sharp," 
called  Reginald.  "Come,  Marta." 

"  A  vicar ! "  ejaculated  the  men  at  Reginald's 
answer  to  their  whispered  question  as  to  the  pro- 
fession of  "that  jolly  fellow."  "Nothing  clerical 
about  him  ;  not  even  a  choker." 

"Tell  you,"  was  the  reply,"  he  hits  the  wind  out 
of  me  with  the  gloves.  I  can't  get  near  him. 
First-rate  bat,  too." 

"  I  should  like  to  try  him  with  the  gloves,"  said 
the  speaker  in  a  longing  tone. 

"  Well,  I'll  speak  to  him.  I  say,  Fordyce,  Sim- 
monds,  here,  is  very  anxious  to  have  a  bout  with 
you  with  the  boxing-gloves." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy,"  replied  Mr.  Fordyce, 
in  his  well-bred  tones.  "There  will  be  time  when 
we  return  from  our  ride,  will  there  not  ? " 

"Plenty  of  time,"  said  Reginald,  carelessly. 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  13! 

"Then  we  will  consider  it  an  appointment," 
laughed  Mr.  Fordyce.  Your  friends  shall  be  um- 
pires, and  William  shall  hold  the  light  for  us." 

All  ideas  of  "  making  a  night  of  it "  at  Tintern 
died  in  this  new  interest.  Nothing  would  have 
equalled  the  delight  of  seeing  the  vicar  with  the 
gloves  on  opposed  to  their  man.  They  rode  up  to 
Mr.  Fordyce,  and  finally  kept  him  in  their  midst, 
all  being  anxious  to  interest  him  in  some  special 
story  which  they  told  in  their  best  manner.  A 
desire  to  stand  well  in  his  eyes  brought  out  all 
that  was  best  in  them  to-night,  and  his  wonderful 
power  of  sympathizing  with  the  interests  of  others 
drew  each  one  of  those  men  to  him. 

"  If  that  man  was  pa'son  of  any  church  within 
twenty  miles  of  me,"  said  Simmonds  to  George 
Drew,  "damned  if  I  would  not  go  to  church." 

The  rest  of  the  party  was  in  front.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Reece  had  waited  for  the  young  people  to 
catch  up,  and  now  were  left  far  in  the  rear.  The 
riders  galloped  along  the  level  road  to  get  an 
impetus  part  way  up  the  hills.  First,  they  pass 
through  the  town  ;  then  come  the  orchards,  where 
the  golden  apples  lie  piled  in  heaps  ready  for  the 
cider-mill ;  then  they  are  on  the  road  which  winds 
round  the  hill  on  which  is  poised  the  mighty  Buck- 
stone,  —  a  boulder  weighing  several  tons,  resting  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill  on  one  small  edge,  looking  as 
if  a  touch  might  dislodge  it.  The  awful  results  of 
such  an  overthrow  always  more  or  less  possess 


132  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

the  minds  of  those  who  ride  in  the  valley  below ; 
all  are  relieved  when  the  Buckstone  is  left  behind. 
Now  come  the  corn-fields ;  the  reapers  are  still  at 
work,  for  the  harvest  moou  is  rising ;  soon  it  will 
be  as  light  as  day. 

Margaret  and  William  rode  on  together,  making 
the  welkin  ring  with  laughter.  They  were  friends, 
almost  comrades,  for  if  Margaret  aped  the  mascu- 
line, William  was  of  womanly  gentleness ;  thus 
they  easily  met  on  common  ground,  and  were  very 
merry  together.  As  they  rode  slowly  up  the  hill, 
William  would  call  in  greeting  to  the  reapers  in 
the  fields. 

"  Harvest  whoam,"  he  cried.  "  Harvest  whoam," 
replied  the  men ;  and  "  Harvest  whoam,"  repeated 
the  laughing  echoes  in  the  hills. 

The  stolid  men  stood  up  from  their  work  of 
binding  the  sheaves ;  in  the  distance  were  the 
stooping  figures  of  women  and  children  gleaning. 
Sometimes  the  narrow  lanes  were  blocked  by  the 
crowd  of  gleaners  who  were  returning  home,  their 
sheaves  of  wheat  on  their  heads.  How  dainty 
and  picturesque  the  moonlight,  touching  as  it  did 
those  coarse  faces  with  its  loving  veil !  What 
grace  it  lent  those  homely  figures,  as  they  climbed 
the  grassy  banks  and  stood  against  the  hedge-rows, 
balancing  their  sheaves,  with  eyes  full  of  smiles  at 
William's  gay  greeting ! 

"  Here  we  are  at  St.  Briavel's  Castle,"  said  Dr. 
Herly,  riding  up  to  Margaret's  side.  "The  strong 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  133 

Norman  fortress  is  used  now  as  a  jail,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Can  we  go  in  ? "  cried  Simmonds. 

"Not  worth  the  trouble.  Ride  on  a  hundred 
yards,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  view," 
cried  Mr.  Reece  from  the  phaeton. 

The  party  rode  on,  reining  up  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill.  Far  below,  winding  back  and  forth,  now 
in  shallows,  now  in  unfathomable  depths,  flowed 
limpid  Wye,  queen  of  beauty,  dangerous,  alluring. 
Rising  in  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  Plinlimmon,  it 
purls  its  way  o'er  valley  and  mead,  sparkling  with 
unutterable  brightness  ;  dark  and  gray  in  the 
shadow  of  the  rocky  cliffs  and  mountain  ridges ; 
here  in  the  valley  gliding  a  very  streak  of  silver, 
only  the  shadows  of  the  willows  on  its  tide.  Here 
was  Wye !  the  old  boundary  line  which,  aided  by 
the  grim  fortresses  on  its  banks,  once  kept  the 
men  of  Wales  at  bay. 

The  party  rode  on  down  the  winding  road, 
crossed  the  bridge  at  Chepstow,  and  drew  rein 
again  at  the  castle  walls.  The  castle  is  built  on 
solid  rock  washed  by  the  tide  of  Wye,  —  a  grim 
fortress  and  a  loyal.  Cromwell's  Ironsides  made 
breaches  in  its  battlemented  walls ;  and  the  ivy, 
with  its  grasping  arms,  its  beautifying  vines,  has 
taken  possession  of  this  castle,  setting  its  gray 
grimness  in  luxurious  green.  Leaning  from  one 
of  the  stone-framed  windows,  you  look  down  inta 
the  deep-cut  channel  of  the  river,  the  odorous 


134  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

breath  of  the  sea-weed  which  covers  the  rocks 
rises  on  the  breeze,  and  you  are  bidden  note  the 
height  from  the  water  to  the  spot  whence  you  lean, 
while  the  story  of  the  great  De  Wintour  is  told, 
how,  refusing  to  be  taken  prisoner,  he  leaped  his 
horse  from  this  window  down  into  the  rushing 
tide,  and  thus  —  escaped. 

No  time  for  the  castle  to-night.  On  again 
through  the  massive  portals  of  the  town  gates,  up 
the  paved  hilly  streets,  —  on  for  Tintern.  No  time 
for  the  grand  view  from  the  Wynd-cliff.  No  ;  but 
look  !  there  by  the  river-side,  under  the  shadow  of 
those  mighty  cliffs,  "  The  Twelve  Apostles  ; " 
there,  in  its  moonlit,  ivy-clad  beauty,  stands  the 
Abbey.  The  little  inn  is  near,  and  the  horses  are 
left  to  the  servants,  while  the  party,  including  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Reece,  stroll  down  to  the  Abbey.  A 
passing  cloud  covers  the  moon  ;  the  Abbey  looms 
a  vast,  shadowy  ghost  from  a  dim  past :  it  is  of 
no  use  to  enter  until  the  sky  is  clear.  A  river  path 
is  followed  until  a  grassy  bank  and  upturned  boat 
suggest  a  resting-place.  Dark  still !  nothing  can  be 
seen,  not  even  Wye,  whose  waters  rise  with  a  splash 
and  gurgle  amongst  the  sedges  in  the  shallows. 

William  began  to  sing  an  old  English  ballad, 
"  Phillida  flouts  me  : "  - 

"  I  gave  her  posies, 
Cowslips  and  gilly-flowers  and  the  sweet  roses." 

"  Love-sick  and  sentimental !  but,  oh !  how  de- 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  135 

lightful  are  these  old  English  ditties,"  observed 
Dr.  Herly.  "  I  love  their  quaint,  melodious  style." 

"  I  always  imagine  a  man  of  the  Raleigh  type, 
lute  in  hand,  with  reproachful  eyes  cast  on  some 
fair  lady,"  said  Rhoda,  "when  I  hear  that  song." 

"  I  like  '  Once  I  loved  a  maiden  fair,'  it  is  so 
exquisitely  dismal,"  said  Marta,  laughing.  "  Sing 
it,  William." 

William,  hardly  visible  in  the  darkness,  strolled 
up  and  down  the  river  path  ;  his  rich  tenor  rose 
and  fell  on  the  evening  air.  Those  who  listened 
never  forgot  the  experience,  and,  but  for  the 
gloom,  tears  might  have  been  seen  in  the  eyes  of 
George's  friends. 

"  You  have  made  us  melancholy,"  said  Reginald, 
with  a  forced  laugh.  "Start  a  glee,  William, 
there's  a  good  fellow." 

Out  rang  the  first  few  bars  of  the  "March  of 
the  men  of  Harlech."  It  seemed  to  inspire  all 
present  with  desire  to  sing ;  even  the  Simmonds 
set  bawling  bass  to  the  chorus  without  knowledge 
of  time  or  tune.  The  Twelve  Apostles,  sol- 
emnly frowning  from  the  cliffs,  must  have  felt 
their  stony  hearts  scandalized  by  the  warlike  glee 
with  which  this  inspiriting  march  was  rendered. 
Silence  followed.  One  could  hear  the  lap,  lap  of 
the  tide  in  the  sedges,  and  the  swaying  coracles, 
which,  drifting  from  their  moorings,  had  been 
caught  in  the  boughs  of  the  willows  which  over- 
hung  the  river. 


136  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

Presently  the  Twelve  Apostles  showed  their 
stony  faces,  the  outlines  of  the  Abbey  grew  dis- 
tinct. 

"  Now  for  it,"  cried  Reginald.  "  The  cloud  is 
passing." 

They  knocked  at  the  small  oaken  door,  and 
were  admitted  after  some  delay.  An  old  man, 
pensioner  of  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  was  cicerone, 
and  gained  a  harvest  of  sixpences  on  moonlight 
nights. 

Tintern  Abbey  by  moonlight !  Happy  the  one 
whose  soul  has  absorbed  this  experience.  Arch 
beyond  arch  in  the  nave ;  windows,  whose  delicate 
framework  of  stone,  all  ivy-draped,  seem  too  ex- 
quisite for  earth ;  over  the  ruined  walls  the  vault 
of  heaven  for  a  roof;  every  pillar,  arch,  and  wall 
festooned  with  ivy.  The  moon  rises  higher, 
higher ;  now  the  centre  of  one  of  these  windows 
is  filled  with  the  disc  of  the  glorious  harvest  moon. 
Then  all  within  the  Abbey  is  a  glory  of  moon- 
beams, the  tessellated  pavement  glows  red  and  yel- 
low. The  tombs  of  the  monks,  who  have  lain  there 
in  the  nave  so  many  centuries  waiting,  waiting,  are 
alight ;  the  carvings  on  the  windows  and  walls 
rise  into  relief  with  magic  swiftness.  You  are 
transported  to  a  dream-world  fettered  with  Old 
World  visions.  From  the  choir  comes  a  train  of 
monks  in  procession,  singing  as  they  glide  amongst 
the  shadows.  Floating  through  this  vista  of 
arches,  rises  the  sound  of  an  organ ;  the  booming 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  137 

of  a  grand  chord  rolls  away  to  the  Cloister  Garth. 
Has  this  vision  lasted  but  a  moment  ?  Can  the 
spirit  live  a  hundred  years,  see  so  much,  hear  so 
much,  in  one  moment  ?  Alas !  it  is  over ;  come 
back  to  the  present.  The  moon  sails  up  into  the 
sky.  The  shadows  glide  across  the  greensward 
which  paves  the  Abbey. 

"  Pretty,  is  it  not  ? "  cried  Reginald,  with  a 
chuckle  of  appreciation. 

A  sigh  of  delight  escaped  from  the  party  gener- 
ally. Margaret  was  awed  into  silence,  she  had 
lived  long,  also,  in  that  moment.  She  had  roofed 
the  Abbey,  and  had  knelt  with  the  worshippers  at 
a  solemn  High  Mass.  She  had  wondered  as  to  the 
history  of  those  who,  nameless  except  for  the 
" Hie Jacet"  and  the  cross,  had  lain  for  so  many 
centuries  in  the  precincts  of  the  Abbey.  Marta 
had  seen  no  visions ;  her  simple  soul  had  rev- 
erently sent  its  message  of  thanks  to  the  Creator 
for  this  beautiful  experience. 

"  It's  a  deuced  ghostly  place,"  muttered  Sim- 
monds  to  George  Drew.  "  It's  lucky  we've  got 
a  parson  with  us  to  lay  any  ghosts  that  turn  up." 

"  Come  and  look  at  the  tessellated  pavement, 
man,"  replied  George.  "Hallo,  old  buffer!" — to 
the  cicerone,  —  "what  do  you  sell  these  tiles  for  ?  " 

He  dared  not  sell  stick  or  stone  of  the  Abbey, 
as  his  tormenter  well  knew.  But  George  amused 
himself  and  friends  with  insisting  first  to  try  to 
buy  him  over,  then  by  threatening  to  steal  the 


138  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

precious  pavement.  The  poor  old  creature  was  in 
a  panic  of  terror ;  but  William  came  quietly  to 
his  side,  and  said  a  few  words  which  set  him  at 
ease,  and  spoiled  all  George's  fun. 

Then  the  whole  party  strolled  over  the  nave  to 
the  foot  of  the  staircase  which  leads  to  the  top  of 
the  walls,  whence  can  be  seen  superb  views  of  the 
valley,  river,  and  surrounding  country.  Reginald 
declared  no  view  in  the  world  could  repay  one  for 
the  fatigue  of  climbing  the  corkscrew  stair ;  but 
Margaret,  glad  to  shake  off  an  eerie  feeling  which 
was  creeping  over  her,  laid  a  wager  she  would 
reach  the  top  before  any  one  else.  Even  the  quiet 
Marta  joined  in  the  race  up  the  steep,  narrow 
stairway.  Stones,  worn  by  the  feet  of  saintly 
monks,  echoed  back  the  steps  of  the  merry  young 
people.  True  enough,  Margaret  distanced  all, 
and  was  seen  alone  on  the  walls  waving  her  cap 
in  sign  of  victory.  Dr.  Herly  watched  from  the 
green  below ;  he  dared  not  attempt  such  a  steep 
climb.  He  leaned  against  a  pillar,  his  eyes  intent 
on  one  slight  figure,  so  easily  distinguished  from 
all  others  by  its  stately  bearing.  Much  of  the 
noisy  conversation  was  wafted  to  his  ears,  and  he 
imagined  Margaret  was  much  excited  by  her  vic- 
tory. He  hoped  that,  after  looking  at  the  view, 
they  would  all  descend.  Instead  of  this,  they 
began  walking  farther  along  the  walls ;  and,  in 
answer  to  a  command  from  Reginald  to  all  to  step 
carefully,  he  saw  Margaret  break  away  from  the 


THE    RIDE   TO   TINTERN.  139 

rest,  and,  with  fleet,  flying  footsteps,  race  round 
and  round  the  walls.  It  was  a  mad  escapade,  as 
no  one  is  permitted  to  venture  on  several  walks 
over  which  she  so  carelessly  sped.  Boards  marked 
"  dangerous  "  warn  the  adventurous  tourist  of  his 
limitations. 

"Catch  her!  —  stop  her,  George,"  cried  Dr. 
Herly.  "Are  you  all  mad,  to  let  her  go  to  her 
death  ? " 

No  one  moved  in  pursuit,  —  prevented  by  Regi- 
nald, as  was  most  wise ;  for  the  walls  would  not 
have  borne  more  strain. 

Dr.  Herly  called,  in  tones  of  agonized  entreaty, — 

"  I  am  coming,  Margaret."  He  set  off  up  the 
steps  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  She  heard,  flew 
past  the  startled  group ;  and,  as  wildly  as  she  had 
raced  up  the  stairs,  tore  down  them  again.  She 
narrowly  escaped  falling  headlong,  so  difficult,  even 
in  cold  blood,  is  the  descent :  but  she  thought  of 
nothing,  cared  for  nothing,  but  to  prevent  Dr. 
Herly's  ascent.  She  came  upon  him  at  last,  stand- 
ing breathless  against  one  of  the  loopholes,  pant- 
ing, exhausted,  his  weak  lungs  oppressed  to  an 
agonizing  extent.  But  it  was  evident  he  scarce 
felt  this  agony  in  his  overpowering  desire  to  pro- 
ceed ;  he  seemed  impatient  of  his  weakness. 

"  Oh !  why  did  you  run  up  those  dreadful 
steps  ? "  cried  Margaret,  in  a  keen  tone  of  regret. 

He  looked  at  her,  but  without  making  any 
reply ;  indeed,  words  were  impossible,  for  the 


I4O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

breath  came  in  gasps  from  his  lips.  He  turned 
from  her  to  the  loophole :  he  only  wished  to  hide 
his  suffering  from  her.  Margaret  suffered  cruelly, 
herself  the  cause  of  this  pain  which  no  regret  on 
her  part  could  alleviate.  She  sat  down  on  the 
steps  and  wept  impetuously.  He  was  suffering 
too  acutely  to  move ;  as  soon  as  he  dared,  he 
turned  and  looked  at  her,  she  looked  up,  her 
eyes  swimming. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  her  voice  full  of  contri- 
tion. Inwardly  she  continued,  "  for  I  suffer  more 
than  you  at  this  moment."  The  unspoken  words 
had  power ;  Dr.  Herly  felt  them  ;  he  was  moved 
to  pity,  he  put  out  his  hand,  Margaret  clasped 
it,  held  it  eagerly. 

"  Let  us  go  down  to  a  pleasanter  part  of  the 
Abbey,"  said  he,  feebly. 

"Then  you  must  let  me  help  you,"  said  she, 
drawing  his  hand  through  her  arm.  "  Lean  on 
me,  let  me  feel  I  am  helping  you." 

"  It  is  like  old  times,  Margie,"  said  Dr.  Herly, 
taking  advantage  of  her  superior  strength. 

Margaret  was  silent ;  he  looked  at  her.  Alas ! 
her  face  perfectly  masked  her  feeling  of  wild  de- 
light at  his  words.  Her  heart  passionately  craved 
a  recurrence  of  those  old  times,  while  her  face 
coldly  bid  them  adieu.  They  passed  into  the 
Cloister  Garth,  crossed  it  to  the  refectory.  The 
moonlight  showed  the  long  hall,  carpeted  with 
grass,  roofed  by  the  changing  heavens,  its  walls 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  14! 

ivy  draped,  the  tangled  vines  almost  hiding  the 
niches  where  the  saints  had  stood  long,  so  long 
ago. 

William's  voice  was  heard,  ringing  out  from  the 
walls,  — 

"Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I." 

Voices  took  up  the  strain  in  harmony. 

Dr.  Herly  wearily  sat  down  on  a  grassy  bank. 
Margaret,  to  hide  her  emotion,  climbed  up  into 
one  of  the  niches,  raised  her  eyes,  and  clasped  her 
hands  over  her  breast. 

"See!"  she  cried,  "do  I  not  make  a  good 
saint  ? " 

No  stone  figure  could  have  been  more  statu- 
esque ;  her  black  habit  draped  her  with  nun-like 
severity,  her  clearly-cut  features  were  set  in  stern 
repose. 

"  No ;  you  will  never  make  a  saint,  Margie," 
said  Dr.  Herly,  coming  towards  her ;  he  put  up 
his  hands  to  help  her  down  from  her  pedestal. 
"  Margie,  Margie,"  he  said,  tenderly,  as  he  again 
leaned  upon  her  arm,  "  what  has  made  you  grow 
so  wild  ? " 

"  You  left  me,"  began  Margaret,  brokenly. 

"  Did  you  regret  your  old  friend  ?  "  said  he,  tak- 
ing her  hand  in  his,  and  holding  it  to  his  breast. 
She  did  not  answer  ;  words  trembled  for  utter- 
ance on  her  lips,  but  the  wild  beating  of  her  heart 
choked  her.  She  could  only  be  silent. 


142  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"Margie" — a  pause.  The  ineffable  atmosphere 
of  love  surrounded  them,  an  eternity  of  bliss  was 
lived  in  that  one  moment  by  poor,  starving  Mar- 
garet. "Was  it  possible  that  I  misjudged  you? 
If  I  had  come  to  you  again,  would  you  have  given 
me  another  answer  ? " 

The  supreme  moment  had  come.  The  years  of 
misery,  which  she  had  made  a  nightmare  of  folly, 
were  about  to  vanish  into  the  past ;  she  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  heart  to  still  its  mad  beating  ; 
words  rose  to  her  lips. 

"  Halloo !  You  are  dreadfully  dull,  you  two," 
cried  Reginald,  without  an  idea  of  the  moment  of 
that  quietude  on  which  he  intruded.  He  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  whole  party,  the  bewildered  pair  were 
separated, — taken  possession  of  by  their  friends. 
Margaret  was  nearly  wild  with  agony,  —  a  pain 
whose  bitterness  had  no  relief.  What  she  did  or 
said  was  a  blank  to  her  after  this,  perhaps  nothing 
unusual.  She  knew  that  they  left  the  Abbey, 
that  they  reached  the  hostelrie,  that  they  were 
riding  home  again.  She  drooped  in  her  saddle ; 
the  miles  seemed  very  long. 

"You  are  tired,"  said  Dr.  Herly.  She  looked 
up,  he  was  riding  beside  her. 

"  Yes.  And  you  ?  Are  you  sure  you  will  not 
suffer  from  to-night  ?  " 

"  From  that  mad  race  up  the  stair  ?  No ;  I 
stopped  in  time." 

His  voice  had  a  tender  intonation,  which  said 


THE    RIDE    TO    TINTERN.  143 

much ;  he  only  needed  a  little  encouragement. 
Poor  Margaret  was  too  profoundly  moved  to  speak  ; 
her  heart  beat  almost  to  suffocation,  her  tongue 
was  stiff  and  unmanageable.  Enough  !  Surely, 
one  who  loved  him  would  give  him  some  outward 
sign  in  answer  to  his  spoken  and  unspoken  words. 
He  sighed  sadly,  reined  back  his  horse,  and  per- 
mitted Reginald  to  take  his  place.  Thus  the 
divine  happiness  of  love  drifted  from  them  again. 
It  would  be  hard  to  say  which  of  the  two  suffered 
most  cruelly  in  this  bitter  hour. 

"  There  is  no  God,  no  after-life,  no  Christ ! " 
muttered  Margaret  to  herself  that  night.  "  I  do 
not  believe  in  any  thing,  —  but  I  suffer.  God  help 
me!" 

Mr.  Fordyce  and  William  left  the  Hollies  with 
the  hearty  farewells  of  the  Simmonds  set  ringing 
in  their  ears.  The  boxing-match  had  come  off, 
and  Mr.  Fordyce  had  shown  splendid  "form." 

"  Damned  if  I  don't  come  and  hear  you  preach 
next  Sunday,"  was  Simmond's  parting  farewell. 

True  to  his  oath,  he  was  there. 


144  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

PANCAKE  KEAR. 

MARGARET  returned  home  the  next  day, 
leaving  a  very  dull  house  behind  her ;  it 
was  as  if  the  sun  had  ceased  to  shine  in  her 
absence.  Marta  wondered,  not  that  her  friend 
had  won  so  many  hearts,  but  that  any  man,  loving 
her,  could  let  pride  be  an  obstacle  to  his  happiness. 
She  read  the  riddle  aright ;  —  Dr.  Herly  was  very 
proud.  He  was  descended  from  a  poor,  proud 
family  ;  —  Margaret's  money  was  an  obstruction 
only  the  excitement  and  witchery  of  that  moon- 
light hour  could  obliterate.  Unfortunately,  she 
had  inherited  this  fortune  only  a  few  days  previous 
to  her  rejection  of  his  proposals.  When  he  learned 
this,  he  did  her  the  injustice  to  believe  the  inher- 
itance of  wealth  had  influenced  her.  In  truth, 
Margaret  was  very  young,  elated  by  her  sense  of 
power  over  him,  and  not  aware  of  the  place  his 
life-long  devotion  had  had  in  her  heart,  until  too 
late,  and  he  had  left  without  a  farewell  word. 
Had  she  remained  poor,  he  would  have  laughed  at 
her  rejection  ;  for  who  understood  her  changeful 
moods  so  well  as  he  ?  Margaret  expected  him  to 


PANCAKE    KEAR.  145 

return  ;  and  when  it  was  too  evident  he  had  left 
her,  ignorant  that  he  made  a  stumbling-block  of 
her  wealth,  blamed  herself  only  for  her  half-con- 
temptuous ridicule  of  her  old  friend  in  the  pose  of 
lover. 

"  He  never  forgives,"  she  had  said  to  Marta ; 
and  she  gave  up  all  hope.  She  would  not  have 
suffered  so  cruelly  but  for  her  knowledge  that  he 
required  all  the  love  and  devotion  wife  could  be- 
stow to  keep  his  disease  from  gaining  ground. 
She  fancied  that  every  time  she  heard  him  cough 
the  disease  had  taken  deeper  root ;  he  had  been 
ordered  to  go  to  Madeira ;  not  to  risk  the  bitter 
winds  of  an  English  winter.  How  was  Margaret 
to  know  that*  he  had  refused  to  leave  the  Forest, 
because  here,  at  least,  he  could  sometimes  see  the 
woman  he  loved  ? 

One  day,  weary  of  pondering  her  unhappy  case, 
Margaret  mounted  her  horse  and  rode  into  the 
Forest.  As  she  rode  on  under  the  beautiful  trees, 
her  thoughts  were  busy.  Was  there  another  life 
beyond  this  world  ?  She  answered  herself  bitterly 
enough  ;  hoped  this  was  all,  if  it  were  any  foretaste 
of  what  another  life  might  be.  She  rode  out  in 
this  humour;  she  returned,  hoping,  with  all  her 
heart,  for  life  beyond  the  ken  of  mortal  eye  and 
ear.  She  crossed  the  rough  tramroad,  over  which 
the  stalwart  horses  plodded  day  and  night,  drag- 
ging the  clumsy  trams  piled  high  with  blocks  of 
coal.  The  teamsters  —  rough  Forest  men  of  ster- 


146  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

ling  character  —  strode  beside  the  horses  armed 
with  whips  and  a  vocabulary  of  oaths,  which, 
though  lacking  variety,  were  projected  with  an 
earnestness  disposing  you  to  expect  an  immediate 
catastrophe.  These  men  were  honest  according 
to  their  code,  —  one  still  tinged  with  feudal  ideas, 
when  the  masters'  property,  in  a  way,  was  theirs, 
as  they  in  turn  belonged  to  the  master.  Old  men, 
women  and  children,  work  day  by  day  on  the  tram- 
road,  picking  up  the  coal  which  falls  from  the 
trams,  to  warm  their  own  hearthstones.  Are 
these  friends  relatives  of  the  teamster?  He 
whips  up  his  horses,  stops  them  with  a  surly  oath 
and  whoa,  —  the  trams  jostle  together,  in  the  con- 
cussion, the  coal  is  spilt  freely  on  t"he  tram  road, 
the  gatherers  reap  a  harvest.  It  being  no  part  of 
the  teamster's  business  to  pick  up  coal,  he  goes 
on  with  an  easy  conscience.  There  is  no  limit  to 
his  dullness  of  perception  where  coal  is  concerned. 
Yet  he  has  a  clear  insight  for  the  rights  of  "meum 
and  tuum"  where  his  own  property  is  in  question; 
dull,  slow-witted,  perhaps,  but  attempt  to  take 
advantage  of  his  dull  wits,  and  an  obstinate  cun- 
ning arises,  — a  shield  of  defence  to  the  dullard. 

Pancake  Kear  was  a  teamster;  he  lived  in  a  small 
cottage  up  in  the  heart  of  the  Forest.  By  an  old 
Forest  law,  which  gave  a  man  the  ground  he  could 
build  upon  and  fence  round  in  a  single  night,  this 
cottage  was  his  own.  He  and  Sukey,  his  wife,  had 
lived  there  for  upwards  of  fifty  years.  Pancake 


PANCAKE  REAR. 

was  a  Kear,  but  the  appellation  was  not  distinctive 
in  this  Forest  world  where  so  many  families  had 
sprung  from  one  remote  ancestor.  It  was  incum- 
bent on  all  Kears  to  earn  some  nickname  by  some 
characteristic  deed.  All  the  Kears  drank  heavily ; 
drunken  Kear  would  but  have  doubled  the  diffi- 
culty. Pancake  earned  his  name  in  his  youth, 
when,  on  a  certain  Shrove  Tuesday,  he  ate  nine- 
teen pancakes  and  a  "clincher," — a  thick  fritter, 
—  for  his  dinner. 

On  this  bright  morning  Pancake  Kear  stabled 
his  horses,  and  prepared  to  go  home  for  his  noon- 
day dinner.  But  Pancake  was  a  thirsty  man ;  in 
fact,  owned  an  unquenchable  thirst  which  cider 
alleviated  but  never  assuaged.  The  last  tram 
always  carried  two  large  earthern  jars,  —  one  of 
oil  of  vitriol  for  greasing  the  tram-wheels ;  the 
other,  cider  for  the  thirsty  throat  of  Pancake  Kear. 
His  mode  of  drinking  was  adapted  to  his  oppor- 
tunity and  the  awkward  vessel  from  which  he 
drank.  Thus,  this  morning,  as  usual,  he  threw 
back  his  head,  opened  wide  the  avenue  to  the 
burning  throat,  swallowing  in  hasty  gulps.  To-day 
one  gulp  sufficed ;  he  threw  down  the  jar,  cast- 
ing a  wild  look  of  agony  on  the  quiet  Forest 
around  him.  He  went  to  his  horses,  saw  that 
they  were  safe,  carefully  locked  up  his  master's 
property ;  then,  with  his  burning  tongue  hanging 
out  of  his  mouth,  Pancake  Kear  went  home  to 
die.  His  cottage  was  near  at  hand,  his  wife  stood 


148  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

at  the  door ;  his  dinner  was  on  the  table ;  the 
dog  frolicked  around  him  ;  the  sun  was  bright. 
Never  had  he  felt  a  keener  desire  for  life,  yet  an 
inward  voice  told  Pancake,  in  his  mortal  agony, 
he  must  die. 

Margaret,  a  few  minutes  later,  met  poor  Sukey, 
flying  as  fast  as  her  trembling  limbs  would  carry 
her,  crying  aloud,  and  wringing  her  hands  as  her 
breath  failed  her. 

"  What  troubles  you,  Sukey  ? " 

"  Oh !  him's  bin  an  done  for  "isself,"  she  moaned. 
"  A  swallowed  vitriol  instead  of  zider,  an'  a's  dyin', 
an'  I  be  after  the  doctor." 

Margaret  instantly  despatched  her  groom  with 
urgent  summons  to  Dr.  Herly,  and  returned  with 
Sukey  to  the  cottage.  The  doctor  found  her 
helping  Pancake  Kear  to  fight  with  death,  her 
ready  wit  having  suggested  such  simple  means  as 
might  be  procured  at  hand.  He  saw  the  man  was 
leaning  on  her  strength  of  character,  even  though 
he  knew  himself  to  be  beyond  hope.  Dr.  Herly 
tried  every  possible  remedy  without  avail. 

"  I  be  goin'  to  die,  maister  ? " 

"  Yes ;  there  is  nothing  more  that  I  can  do," 
he  replied,  with  grave  kindness,  "  unless  you  will 
let  me  give  you  something  which  will  make  you 
unconscious  of  the  pain  you  suffer." 

"  No,  thank  ye,  maister,"  said  Pancake,  panting 
in  agony,  his  eyes  on  the  sunlight  out-of-doors. 
"  If  die  I  be  bound  to,  die  I  will.  If  there  was  a 


PANCAKE    REAR.  149 

pa'son  now,  as  would  say  a  prayer ;  but  I  know 
there  baint." 

He  looked  wistfully  at  his  friends.  No  pa'son 
was  near ;  but  could  not  they  ?  His  eyes  fell  dis- 
appointed. Margaret  felt  bitterly  sorry  that  she 
could  not  help  him.  He  craved  no  alleviation  of 
his  mortal  agony,  only  a  few  words  of  prayer  to 
help  him  safely  cross  the  boundary  line  of  life  to 
enter  on  eternity. 

"I  cannot  help  you,"  she  cried,  sorrowfully. 
She  coloured  with  shame,  as  she  met  those  wistful 
eyes,  that  her  life  heretofore  had  left  her  so  un- 
prepared for  this  hour  of  extremity.  Old  Sukey, 
choked  with  sobs,  fell  on  her  knees  and  mumbled 
the  poor  formula  which  represented  all  she  knew 
of  prayer :  — 

"  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John, 
Bless  the  bed  as  I  lies  on. 
Four  postes  to  my  bed, 
Four  angels  round  my  bed,  — 
Two  to  foot  and  two  to  head, 
Four  to  carry  me  when  I'm  dead." 

The  time-worn  words  brought  no  healing  to  poor 
Pancake,  whose  spiritual  vision  was  growing  clear. 
Again  he  turned  his  appealing  eyes  on  Margaret. 

"Pray,"  she  said,  turning  to  Dr.  Herly,  in  de- 
spair. "  You  see  I  cannot." 

The  doctor,  whose  whole  attention  was  given  to 
relieving  the  physical  agony  of  the  dying  man, 
quietly  refused. 


150  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"You  must!"  she  urged.  "You  are  good.  I 
know  you  can  say  a  prayer  now  for  this  poor  soul." 

One  of  the  prayers  for  the  dying  came  to  his 
mind.  The  doctor  repeated  it  with  reverent  utter- 
ance, but  it  was  far  above  the  understanding  of 
poor  Pancake,  —  he  was  not  helped  by  it.  A 
hearty  "  Amen  "  broke  from  a  voice  at  the  door. 
A  gang  of  miners  stood  there,  one  of  whom  en- 
tered the  cottage.  A  ray  of  light  shot  from  the 
eye  of  the  dying  man  ;  it  was  Jem  Bryan,  the 
ranter.  Pancake  had  been  wont  to  scoff  at  his 
zeal,  but  he  was  welcome  now  as  an  angel  to  his 
suffering  soul.  This  rough  collier,  rich  in  faith, 
owned  a  spiritual  existence  whose  reality  became 
manifest  to  Margaret  as  something  almost  tangi- 
ble. She,  who  had  started  out  this  day  declaring 
there  was  no  God,  no  hereafter,  now  brought  face 
to  face  with  death  in  this  awful  form,  greedily 
drank  in  the  blessed  words  which  gave  hope  to 
Pancake  Kear  that  the  inhabitant  of  the  body 
should  not  die,  though  the  mortal  part  should 
perish.  All  that  was  Pancake  Kear  was  now  leav- 
ing its  rough  habitation ;  his  parting  spirit,  true 
to  a  life-long  love,  raised  his  lips  in  a  farewell  kiss 
to  Sukey.  With  that  kiss  the  spirit  passed  to  the 
"unseen,"  leaving  the  face  moulded  in  a  smile 
that  was  all  peace.  The  heavy  limbs,  none  too 
heavy  for  the  dull  spirit  which  had  impelled  them 
to  action,  now  fell  forward  in  a  helpless  mass. 

Margaret  led  old  Sukey  away  into  the  Forest, 


PANCAKE    REAR.  151 

while  the  kindly  neighbours  prepared  the  body  for 
its  last  long  rest.  The  poor  creature  was  dazed 
with  sorrow.  She  wept  as  though  her  floods  of 
tears  must  melt  the  Almighty  to  pity  and  to  res- 
toration. Margaret,  absorbed  in  the  effort  to 
console  her,  found  herself  asserting  with  absolute 
conviction,  — 

"  Your  husband  lives ;  you  will  meet  him 
again." 

"  But  what  be  I  to  do  without  un  now  ? " 

Sukey  could  not  look  beyond  the  present  hour 
of  misery.  Margaret  perceived  this,  and  desisted 
from  her  efforts  to  give  comfort ;  and  the  old  wo- 
man wept  on,  until  the  neighbours  called  her  back 
to  the  cottage. 

Dr.  Herly  lingered  by  the  garden-gate. 

"May  I  suggest  a  means  of  helping?" 

"Do.     All  my  efforts  fail." 

"  People  in  this  class  think  much  of  the  respect 
paid  to  their  dead.  If  you  would  send  your  car- 
riage." 

"  I  understand.  But  I  will  do  more  than  this. 
I  will  defray  the  expenses  of  the  funeral." 

She  called  the  neighbour,  and  gave  her  a  few 
directions.  Sukey  experienced  the  first  feeling  of 
alleviation  of  her  pain,  in  knowing  that  her  "mon" 
would  have  a  fine  "buryinV 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  Margaret 
allowed  Dr.  Herly  to  assist  her  to  mount,  and  they 
rode  away  together. 


152  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Have  you  finished  your  rounds  this  morning?" 
asked  Margaret,  breaking  a  long  silence. 

"  No ;  I  must  visit  a  sick  woman  in  Lydbrook. 
Can  you  ride  a  little  way  with  me  ? " 

"  Certainly.  I  envy  you  the  welcome  you  get 
everywhere.  How  delightful  to  have  the  power 
of  giving  relief  to  those  who  suffer! " 

"  Recognize  my  limitations,"  he  replied,  smiling. 
"  I  could  do  nothing  for  poor  Kear.  Let  me  tell 
you,  too,  that  the  face  of  a  certain  lady  of  my  ac- 
quaintance is  well  loved,  and  welcome  in  many  a 
poor  home  that  I  know  of." 

Margaret  coloured.     He  went  on  :  — 

"  I  repeat.  The  world  lost  a  fine  nurse  in  you. 
I  wish  there  were  more  women  capable  of  doing 
as  you  have  done  this  day.  Poor  Kear  died  the 
easier  for  his  reliance  on  your  courage." 

"Yet,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  tremble  in  her 
voice,  "  mankind  loves  better  the  helpless  type  of 
woman,  — who  weeps  and  faints  in  a  crisis." 

"You  think  man  blindly  clings  to  the  feeble 
element  in  woman, — prefers  and  cherishes  it?" 

"My  experience  shows  me  that  it  is  so,"  she 
replied,  curling  her  lip.  "  Popular  opinion  inclines 
to  women  of  one  stamp.  Individuality  is  a  crime." 

"  I  grant  you  the  partial  truth  of  your  state- 
ment," said  the  doctor,  smiling  in  a  way  that  made 
her  heart  beat  fast ;  "  but  except  me  from  your 
classification.  You  know,  however,  that  what  is 
supposed  by  some  people  to  be  individuality  is 


PANCAKE    KEAR.  153 

simply  a  vulgar  desire  to  attract  attention.  Women 
of  this  type  are  frequently  destitute  of  wit,  beauty, 
or  especial  loveliness  of  character." 

"  Loveliness  of  character !  Who  but  Marta  de- 
serves such  a  characterization  ?  "  exclaimed  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Are  you  going  to  model  your  life  after  her 
pattern  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  genial  smile. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  I  should  never  make  a 
saint  ?  "  she  replied,  meeting  his  eyes  with  a  quiz- 
zical glance. 

"  There  are  degrees  of  perfection,"  he  said,  in 
a  tone  that  brought  the  colour  to  her  cheeks,  and 
made  her  careless  of  her  words,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Reginald  is  not  of  your  opinion.  Perfection 
means  Mr.  Reginald  Reece,  to  his  mind." 

"  It  is  not  a  very  expansive  centre,"  said  the 
doctor,  sharply. 

"  But  the  only  thinking  mind  I  have  met  with 
in  this  sleepy  old  Forest,"  she  cried.  "  He  ac- 
tually reads,  —  and"  — 

"  Yes !  he  reads,  and  adopts  other  men's 
thoughts  with  a  certain  amount  of  cleverness." 

"  He  holds  pronounced  views  on  the  woman 
question,"  she  continued,  with  stinging  sarcasm. 
"  Woman  is  born  to  admire  and  adore ;  and  such 
as  are  favoured  with  his  acquaintance  have  the 
object  presented  for  their  adoration." 

"  He  is  young,  has  travelled  little,  and  been  too 
long  the  first  man  in  his  circle.  Then  comes  a 


154  HEAVENS    GATE. 

woman  of  the  world,  and  permits  him  to  sit  at  her 
feet.  Is  it  a  wonder  he  loses  ballast,  and  becomes 
the  unworthy  being  your  sarcasm  depicts  ?  " 

"  One  must  amuse  one's  self,"  she  said,  dryly. 
"Vanity  is  an  interesting  study.  Reginald  pos- 
sesses it  to  a  marvel." 

"  You  are  amiable !  Does  it  ever  strike  you 
that  Marta  may  suffer  from  your  wholesale  mo- 
nopoly of  her  cousin  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Margaret,  with  a  keen  flash  in  her 
eye.  "  Neither  you  nor  I  know  any  thing "  — 
Let  me  tell  you,  however,  that  the  man  who  could 
be  allured  from  a  woman  such  as  Marta  deserves 
the  consequences,  however  severe  the  punishment 
may  be." 

The  doctor  made  no  reply.  Margaret's  meaning 
puzzled  him. 

"I  must  leave  you  here,"  she  said,  pausing 
under  the  trees. 

"  Must  you  ?  "  he  said,  rousing  himself  and  look- 
ing wistfully  into  her  eyes.  "  You  have  been  very 
good  to  come  so  far." 

" Au  revoir"  said  Margaret,  turning  sharply 
from  the  eyes  that  revealed  so  much  to  her,  while 
she  had  the  bitter  assurance  that  the  lips  were 
sealed,  and  were  quite  unconscious  of  the  be- 
trayal of  the  eyes. 

"God  help  us  both,"  she  murmured,  as  she  rode 
away. 


"JUMPING   JIM."  155 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"JUMPING  JIM." 

MINNIE  SELWYN  had  promised  to  teach 
Marta's  Sunday  class,  consisting  of  poor 
cottagers'  children,  and  such  of  the  farmers' 
daughters  as  would  condescend  to  be  taught. 
She  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  the  heat,  but  told 
Crawford  sharply  he  need  not  attempt  to  stroll 
away  to  go  to  sleep  under  the  park  trees,  as  she 
desired  his  escort  to  Heaven's  Gate.  Crawford 
meekly  suggested  driving  her  there,  but  Minnie 
refused  to  use  the  ponies  on  Sunday.  He  gave 
up  the  point,  and  armed  himself  with  a  large  um- 
brella, though  he  knew  Minnie  would  not  accept 
its  shelter.  As  usual,  in  such  weather,  she  walked 
on  with  a  brisk,  light  step,  looking  quite  cool  in 
her  white  dress  and  broad  hat,  holding  a  dainty 
sun-umbrella,  at  which  Crawford  growled,  when 
he  found  sufficient  energy.  It  was  a  pleasant 
walk,  —  under  foot  the  velvety  turf  of  the  park ; 
while  the  avenue  of  oaks,  leading  up  to  the  Roman 
wall,  sheltered  them  from  the  sun.  Ere  they 
reached  Heaven's  Gate,  they  saw  the  children 
picturesquely  grouped  under  the  trees  on  the  lawn, 


156  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

with  Jennie  and  Olga  anxiously  on  the  watch  for 
Minnie.  Crawford  retired  to  smoke  a  cigar  in  the 
laurel  arbour.  Unfortunately  for  him,  this  was 
aunt  Cathy's  favourite  retreat,  where,  armed  with 
Watts's  Hymns,  and  various  pamphlets  of  a  stirring 
nature,  this  redoubtable  warrior  read  and  dozed 
away  the  afternoon.  Ready  for  battle  in  season 
and  out  of  season,  she  began  at  once  to  probe  the 
phlegmatic  Crawford  with  questions,  finally  assur- 
ing him  that  "he  was  unregenerate,  and,  unless 
he  saw  the  error  of  his  ways,  his  end  would  be  too 
awful  to  contemplate."  Crawford  listened  with 
polite  attention,  even  a  degree  of  interest ;  but 
aunt  Cathy  was  to  lose  her  victim  just  as  she 
began  to  warm  to  her  theme.  Minnie  called  to 
Crawford. 

"  Four  new  girls  are  here,"  said  Minnie.  "  Come 
and  hear  them  read  a  chapter  in  the  Testament, 
like  a  good  Crawford." 

Ere  he  could  object,  she  had  left  him  before  a 
bench  where  four  blooming,  Saxon  maidens,  fair- 
haired  and  rosy-cheeked,  sat  giggling  with  keen 
appreciation  of  the  situation.  They  rose  and 
curtsied  to  the  "young  squire;"  and  he,  in  return, 
took  off  his  hat,  politely  begging  them  to  be  seated. 
Very  soon,  Minnie,  busy  with  her  own  class,  saw 
Crawford  at  her  side. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  asked,  sharply. 

"You  asked  me  to  hear  the  young  ladies  read?" 

"  Well  ? "  —  impatiently. 


"JUMPING  JIM."  157 

"  It  happens  that  they  are  all  totally  unac- 
quainted with  the  symbols,"  replied  he,  with  per* 
feet  gravity. 

"Then  you  must  inform  them  on  that  point," 
said  Minnie,  smiling  in  spite  of  her  earnestness. 
"  Olga  will  give  you  a  primer." 

Crawford  went  back  with  a  much-thumbed  horn- 
book in  his  possession,  and  laboured  with  zeal  and 
polite  tact  to  accustom  the  blooming  damsels  to 
the  differences  between  the  letters  of  the  alphabet. 
He  had  a  keen  sympathy  for  slow  minds,  other- 
wise his  patience  must  soon  have  been  exhausted. 

CRAWFORD  (to  No.  i).  —  "What  do  you  call  this 
letter  ? " 

No.  i.  —  "  Thic  uns  a  B,  yunt  it  ? " 

No.  2.  —  "  No  't  yunt.  A  zed  a  was  a  D,  not  a 
minute  ago." 

Crawford,  delighted  at  this  proof  of  intelligence, 
turns  the  page  and  points  to  the  same  letter  again. 

Chorus.  —  "  Never  sot  eyes  on  it  afore." 

How  much  longer  his  patience  would  have 
lasted  was  fortunately  not  tested,  as  Minnie  soon 
afterwards  dismissed  the  school.  As  they  strolled 
home,  she  cordially  praised  his  efforts,  and  prom- 
ised to  give  him  the  same  class  next  Sunday ; 
then  Crawford  leaned  his  huge  frame  against  an 
oak-tree  and  laughed  heartily ;  the  absurd  side  of 
the  situation  was  too  much  for  his  gravity. 

"You  see,  Crawford,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet 
patronage  in  her  tone,  which  always  intensely 


158  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

amused  Crawford,  "  people  cannot  always  do  what 
they  like  best." 

"  But  they  can  always  find  some  one  else  who 
does  it  habitually,"  answered  he,  enigmatically ; 
then  he  indulged  in  another  chuckle,  as  he  thought 
of  the  four  dense  minds  incapable  of  grasping  the 
alphabetical  symbols. 

There  were  none  but  dame  schools  for  the  poor, 
and  Sunday-school  teachers  devoted  part  of  the 
hour  to  teaching  their  scholars  to  read.  Success 
was  considered  to  have  crowned  their  efforts  when 
a  chapter  in  the  Testament  could  be  read  without 
much  stumbling. 

"  Uncle  Selwyn  must  establish  some  schools  on 
the  estate,"  said  Crawford,  presently. 

"  We  have  often  tried  to  do  so,  but  the  parents 
will  not  send  the  children.  They  keep  the  girls 
at  home  to  mind  the  babies,  and  hire  out  the  boys 
to  the  farmers  to  scare  the  crows,  or  drive  the 
plough-horses." 

"  It  must  be  done,"  said  Crawford,  in  his  quiet 
way. 

"Which  means  it  will  be  done,"  laughed  Min- 
nie. "Well,  no  one  but  yourself  could  accomplish 
it." 

Much  to  Mr.  Selwyn's  satisfaction,  it  was  done 
ere  the  year  was  out.  Crawford's  dogged  deter- 
mination to  improve  the  condition  of  the  poor,  in 
spite  of  their  desire  to  be  let  alone,  delighted  the 
squire.  Crawford  was  a  slow  man ;  he  did  not 


"JUMPING  JIM."  159 

care  how  long  it  took  to  establish  new  ways,  but 
everyone  knew  that,  when  he  set  his  mind  on  any 
one  point,  he  never  gave  up.  When  once  the 
dull  brains  of  the  village  folk  had  mastered  this 
fact,  they  did  not  trouble  to  oppose  him  openly. 
When  they  could  evade  his  will  by  cunning  they 
did  so  without  a  scruple ;  but  even  cunning  got 
tired  of  continual  opposition,  and  many  improve- 
ments Mr.  Selwyn  had  sighed  for  were  carried  out 
and  established  by  Crawford. 

The  Hon.  Crawford  Rivers  was  third  son  of 
Lord  John  Rivers,  and  a  distant  cousin  of  the 
Selwyns.  The  two  families  had  always  been  on 
close  terms  of  friendship  ;  and  Mr.  Selwyn,  who 
had  no  sons  of  his  own,  had  early  taken  a  great 
fancy  for  this  fine  boy  of  Lord  Rivers'.  On  the 
death  of  Lady  Rivers,  Mrs.  Selwyn  had  suggested 
that  Crawford  should,  for  the  future,  spend  his 
holidays  at  the  park.  He  grew  up,  therefore, 
amongst  the  Selwyns,  and  felt  more  at  home  in 
their  house  than  in  his  father's,  where  a  haughty 
Lady  Rivers  soon  took  his  mother's  place.  Craw- 
ford, at  twenty-five  years  of  age,  was  inclined  to 
wish  that  he  had  not  been  thrown  so  much  with 
his  cousins,  since  it  seemed  nearly  impossible  to 
break  up  the  old  habit  which  all  had  of  regarding 
him  as  a  brother.  He  had  learned,  in  the  time  of 
his  absence  the  last  year,  that  his  feeling  for  Min- 
nie had  never  been  of  a  brotherly  character, — 
he  loved,  he  worshipped,  her.  How  could  he  woo 


160  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

one  who  treated  him  with  such  absolute  freedom, 
who  bade  him  come  and  go,  hung  on  his  arm,  and 
laughed  at  his  slowness,  as  a  sister  might  do ; 
who  accepted  his  lover-like  attentions  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  suggested  to  him  that  he  would  do 
well  to  consider  how  old  he  was  getting,  and  find 
a  wife  before  he  grew  to  be  a  selfish  old  bachelor  ? 
He  had  spoken  to  Mr.  Selwyn  on  the  subject,  and 
had  received  his  hearty  good  wishes.  It  was,  in 
fact,  the  union  the  squire  desired  above  all  others, 
but  he  was  far  from  believing  it  would  ever  take 
place. 

Minnie  had  many  admirers,  but  treated  them  all 
in  a  dispassionate  manner  which  quickly  brought 
them  to  the  verge  of  despair.  How  should  they 
know  that  she  had  an  ideal  standard  by  which  she 
measured  them  all  ?  Indeed,  she  herself  was  quite 
unconscious  that  she  made  a  hero  of  this  cousin 
whose  slowness  was  the  cause  of  so  many  sharp 
remarks  from  her  caustic  tongue.  The  men  who 
sued  for  her  regard  went  down  one  after  another 
when  judged  by  this  ideal ;  their  height,  breadth, 
strength,  manner,  their  self-esteem,  —  she  curled 
her  lip  at  the  comparison.  One,  braver  than  the 
rest,  followed  her  down  into  the  country,  and 
asked  permission  of  her  parents  to  try  and  make 
himself  acceptable  to  their  daughter.  Lord  Or- 
ford  was  a  fine  man,  and  worthy  of  a  woman's 
regard.  Minnie  liked  him  very  much,  but  be- 
tween liking  and  loving  is  a  great,  yawning  chasm. 


"JUMPING   JIM."  l6l 

Crawford,  who  was  obstinately  determined  never 
to  give  up  his  cousin  to  any  other  man  as  long  as 
any  chance  remained  of  winning  her  for  himself, 
was  desperately  jealous  of  Lord  Orford.  He 
knew  that  his  rival  possessed  all  the  brilliant 
qualities  of  which  he  was  himself  deficient ;  he 
knew  that  he  bore  the  character  of  being  irresist- 
ible with  women.  Lord  Orford  had  a  small  estate 
some  twenty  miles  away,  and  spent  the  summer 
there,  riding  over  to  the  park  as  often  as  he  could 
find  excuse  to  do  so,  making  himself  a  most  de- 
lightful companion. 

The  athletic  sports  were  to  come  off  one  day  in 
September,  and  Lord  Orford  condescendingly  as- 
sured Minnie  he  should  join  in  them.  They  were 
organized  by  Mr.  Selwyn  to  encourage  the  mill- 
hands  and  farmers'  men  to  develop  their  physique 
by  regular  practice.  Handsome  prizes  were  given 
every  year  to  the  victors ;  and,  as  yet,  the  best  of 
these  had  been  regularly  carried  off  by  a  man 
called  "Jumping  Jim."  The  whole  interest  of  the 
sports  hung  on  the  feats  of  this  village  worthy, 
and  no  gentleman  of  college  training  had  ever 
competed  for  honours  with  this  self-taught  genius. 
Minnie  tried  to  dissuade  Lord  Orford  from  his 
purpose,  but  he  did  not  happen  to  see  it  from  her 
point  of  view.  He  knew  himself  to  be  a  perfect 
athlete,  and  he  enjoyed  the  prospect  of  showing 
himself  to  advantage.  Minnie  was  much  preplexed. 
Have  the  pleasure  of  the  day  spoilt  for  the  vil- 
lagers, she  would  not. 


162  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Crawford,"  she  said,  on  the  morning  of  the 
eventful  day,  "  I  want  you  to  enter  the  lists  to- 
day." 

"To  beat  poor  Jumping  Jim,  Minnie?"  he  asked, 
with  a  frown. 

"No,"  said  Minnie,  with  a  gay  little  laugh;  "but 
to  beat  Lord  Orford." 

"  You  are  sure  I  can  ? "  he  asked,  lazily  stretch- 
ing himself.  "Do  you  know  what  they  said  of 
him  at  Oxford  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  can,"  she  said,  calmly,  her  look  of 
pride  at  Crawford  making  his  heart  leap  with  sud- 
den delight. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  without  further  re- 
ply, but  when  the  hour  came  he  stood  at  the 
starting-point  equipped  for  action.  Minnie  saw 
him  take  poor  Jumping  Jim  by  the  arm  and  lead 
him  aside. 

"  Please,  zur,"  says  Jim,  who  has  often  tried 
leaps  with  Crawford  in  days  gone  by,  "there  baint 
no  chance  for  me  if  you  goes  in." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  beat  you,  Jim,  understand 
that,"  said  Crawford,  simply.  A  glance  at  the 
elegant  Lord  Orford,  who  now  approached,  threw 
light  on  the  subject.  "  You  must  do  your  best, 
you  know,"  said  Crawford. 

"Can  I  beat  him?" 

"I  think  you  can,"  was  the  reply. 

The  three  men  stood  side  by  side,  all  of  them 
tall,  but  Crawford's  head  four  inches  above  the 


"JUMPING   JIM."  163 

others,  —  Lord  Orford,  a  perfect  Apollo  ;  Jumping 
Jim  an  absurd  figure,  in  comparison,  with  long, 
ungainly  limbs  and  ill-set  head ;  Crawford,  a  Her- 
cules in  height  and  strength.  Jumping  Jim  was 
nerved  to  do  his  best,  knowing  that  his  sweetheart 
watched  him  from  a  bench  under  the  trees ; 
never  had  he  jumped  so  far,  or  run  so  well.  Lord 
Orford  looked  at  him  with  growing  respect,  as  the 
awkward  creature  out-ran  and  out-leaped  him  con- 
tinually. 

Curiously  enough,  Crawford  was  always  a  little 
before  Lord  Orford  and  a  little  behind  Jumping 
Jim. 

"Why  does  not  Crawford  do  better  to-day?" 
asked  Mrs.  Selwyn.  "  He  could  easily  beat  Jump- 
ing Jim." 

"  He  is  not  there  to  beat  him,"  said  Minnie, 
gayly. 

"  Why,  then  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  Jim  is  first 
every  time  ? " 

"  He  has  no  training,  though,"  said  Minnie. 
"  He  will  get  tired  before  the  end  comes." 

The  finale  was  a  grand  steeple-chase  over  the 
park,  which  included  fences,  and  a  deep  brook 
which  had  made  a  wide  channel  for  itself.  Jim, 
accustomed  to  lead  here  as  elsewhere  in  former 
years,  now  felt  the  pace  of  the  college  men  very 
trying.  He  kept  well  ahead,  but  was  losing  his 
wind.  Crawford  ran  easily  along  a  little  way  be- 
hind, and  Lord  Orford  a  pace  or  two  in  the  rear. 


164  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

All  went  well  until  the  last  trying  leap.  Poor 
Jim  made  a  grand  effort,  and  landed  on  his  feet, 
but  breathless.  He  cast  a  look  of  agony  behind 
him.  Crawford  leaped  over,  suddenly  clasped  Jim 
in  his  arms,  and  ran  on  up  the  hill  with  him. 

"  Got  my  wind,  zur,"  said  Jim,  in  a  minute  or 
two. 

"Then  run  in,"  said  Crawford,  arriving  himself 
at  the  winning-post  just  a  few  steps  ahead  of 
Lord  Orford.  A  few  minutes  later,  Jumping  Jim 
was  to  be  seen  with  the  other  village  competitors, 
whose  small  feats  have  not  been  recorded,  receiv- 
ing the  prizes  which  meant  such  glory  to  him  in 
the  eyes  of  the  villagers.  Crawford  emerged 
from  the  tent,  where  he  had  retired  to  don  his 
every-day  clothing,  and  cast  a  look  round  to  find 
Minnie.  She  was  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of 
friends,  and  Crawford  slowly  made  his  way  to  her 
side  ;  Lord  Orford  was  before  him,  however.  She 
took  no  notice  of  Crawford,  though  well  aware  of 
his  presence ;  but  as  the  crowd  of  village  people 
moved  that  way,  and  made  it  necessary  for  them 
to  stand  closer  together,  Minnie  slipped  her  little 
hand  unseen  into  Crawford's  with  a  sudden,  close 
clasp.  It  was  detained  until  a  chance  offered  of 
escape,  then  he  drew  it  through  his  arm. 

"  Let  us  get  out  of  this  jostling  crowd,"  said 
he. 

"  O  Crawford !  I  am  so  proud  of  you,"  said  she, 
gayly. 


"JUMPING  JIM."  165 

He  pressed  her  hand  silently  to  his  side,  then, 
drawing  it  farther  through  his  arm,  held  it  close 
with  the  other  hand.  There  was  no  one  to  see,  — 
for  they  were  wandering  under  the  trees,  —  only 
the  gentle  deer,  herding  timidly  under  the  beeches. 
Minnie  laid  her  head  for  an  instant  against  his 
arm. 

"There  is  no  one  so  good  as  my  old  Crawford," 
she  said,  in  a  tone  of  sisterly  pride  most  discour- 
aging to  a  lover. 

They  sat  down  on  a  bench  under  an  oak,  whose 
massive  boughs  sheltered  them  from  observation. 
Minnie  chatted  on,  but  Crawford  maintained  his 
silence.  Soon  Jumping  Jim  and  his  sweetheart 
came  strolling  past.  Minnie  called  to  them,  and 
they  came  bowing  and  curtseying  up  to  the  young 
lady. 

"There's  something  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
if  I  mought,  miss,"  he  said,  with  a  look  at  Craw- 
ford, whose  muttered  "  Shut  up,  Jim,"  did  not  es- 
cape Minnie's  notice. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  hear.  Now, 
Crawford,  I  will  hear  it.  What  is  it,  Jim  ?  " 

Thus  encouraged,  Jim  told  his  story, — how 
Muster  Crawford  lep  the  ditch,  and  carr'd  him  up 
the  hill,  till  he  got  his  wind  again. 

"  Seeing  as  how  you  was  sweethearts,  miss,  — 
like  me  and  Molly  here,  —  I  thought  t'was  my 
duty  like  to  tell  you,  miss." 

"That  will  do,"  said  Crawford,  suddenly,  spin- 


166  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

ning  a  couple  of  sovereigns  at  Jim.  "That's  to 
help  your  furnishing,  Jim.  Don't  let  it  go  to  the 
ale-house." 

" No,  zur"  grinned  Jim,  walking  away,  after 
making  his  bow ;  while  Molly  unceasingly  dipped 
her  curtseys. 

Minnie  sat  very  still,  her  face  turned  from  Craw- 
ford, though  he  could  see  the  pink  flush  that  suf- 
fused her  cheeks.  He  laid  his  arm  over  the  back 
of  the  bench,  took  heart  of  grace,  and  let  his 
hand  fall  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Sweethearts,  Minnie  ? "  he  said,  in  an  unmis- 
takable tone,  bending  to  look  into  her  face. 

"  O  Crawford  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  little 
rill  of  laughter,  "  is  it  not  ridiculous  ? " 

Then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  sud- 
denly took  to  flight,  leaving  him  to  solitude. 


A    GAME    OF    CRICKET.  l6/ 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

A    GAME    OF    CRICKET. 

THE  church-bells  were  ringing,  changing  their 
peal  every  five  minutes  of  the  half-hour  pre- 
ceding service.  William,  full  of  delight  in  his 
position  of  choir-master  and  organist,  walked 
gayly  over  the  fields,  passing  the  slow  village  folk 
with  a  bright  word  of  greeting  as  he  hastened  to 
take  his  place  in  good  time.  The  calling-bell  be- 
gan to  toll,  the  people  who  were  talking,,  grouped 
about  the  church-yard,  or  sitting  on  the  flat  tomb- 
stones, now  went  into  church ;  and  those  still 
sauntering  across  the  fields  hurried  their  steps. 

Mr.  Fordyce  gave  a  grateful  look  at  William  as 
the  last  tones  of  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my 
Father"  died  away.  The  congregation,  stirred  to 
interest,  rose  and  joined  in  the  responses.  Life 
had  come  into  the  service ;  this  night  no  one 
slept  through  the  sermon.  How  was  this  ?  Not 
only  did  the  music  cause  the  fresh  interest,  but 
the  vicar  had  found  the  key  to  his  people's  hearts. 
He  burned  his  old  sermons,  many  of  which  he 
had  considered  worthy  of  being  printed.  He  now 
modelled  his  discourses  on  the  lessons  he  learned 


1 68  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

from  the  ranter  Bryan.  Heart  can  stir  heart  by 
strong  faith  and  enthusiasm  ;  simple  words,  cloth- 
ing practical  suggestions  for  every-day  life,  were 
the  foundations  on  which  his  future  sermons  were 
built. 

William  listened  eagerly.  Conscious  of  a  weak 
character,  he  learned  that  strength  would  come 
at  his  need ;  life  need  not  be  a  failure,  unless  he 
chose  to  make  it  so.  Poor  Mr.  Graves,  with  his 
argumentative  sermons  which  raised  doubts  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  disproving  them,  —  how  bald  and 
useless  such  head-work  to  those  whose  sinful  hearts 
require  tangible  help ! 

Alas,  for  William  !  His  aunt  and  father  tore 
this  means  of  grace  from  his  grasp  when  he  went 
home  that  evening.  Mr.  Graves,  with  all  the  dea- 
cons but  Thomas  Hughes,  had  convened  a  church- 
meeting,  had  reminded  Mr.  De  Clifford  of  the 
work  his  Puritan  forefathers  had  done,  and  had 
dwelt  much  on  the  weakness  he  now  showed  in 
allowing  his  son  to  corisort  with  the  church  par- 
son, and  assist  in  a  service  which  led  on  to  popery. 
But  enough,  and  too  much,  of  such  pitiful  strict- 
ures. Mr.  De  Clifford  went  home  in  one  of  his 
rages,  which,  of  rare  occurrence,  were  very  violent 
while  they  lasted.  William  came  running  to  meet 
him,  his  bright  face  beaming  as  he  began  to  tell 
of  his  success  with  the  choir.  A  few  stern  words, 
and  the  gladness  died  from  his  face.  Aunt  Cathy 
burst  in  with  acrid  speeches ;  and,  between  them 


A    GAME    OF    CRICKET.  169 

both,  they  said  so  much  that  William,  gentle  as  he 
was,  turned  on  them,  told  them  they  wanted  to 
drive  him  to  the  Devil ;  and  that,  since  they  for- 
bade him  to  take  Mr.  Fordyce  for  a  friend,  he 
would  find  plenty  of  another  kind  he  hoped  would 
please  them  better;  and,  since  he  must  not  at- 
tend Church,  he  would  not  enter  the  doors  of  the 
Baptist  chapel  again. 

Aunt  Cathy  broke  in  with  a  stream  of  reproaches ; 
but  Mr.  De  Clifford,  coming  to  his  senses  when 
he  saw  his  gentle  boy  roused  to  a  fury  almost 
equal  in  violence  to  his  own  mad  rage,  silenced 
her  in  a  few  stern  words. 

Forbidden  to  see  or  speak  to  Mr.  Fordyce,  Wil- 
liam's whole  soul  rose  in  rebellion.  He  went  to 
Thomas  Hughes  with  the  story ;  and  within  an 
hour  the  vicar  was  made  acquainted  with  it  by  the 
pen  of  the  "Co."  Unfortunately,  urgent  business 
called  him  to  London  for  a  week.  He  wrote  Wil- 
liam a  noble  letter  which  would  have  enabled  him 
to  possess  his  soul  in  patience  until  his  friend  re- 
turned. Aunt  Cathy  received  the  letter  from  the 
messenger,  learnt  whence  it  came,  and  burned  it 
unread.  William  felt  he  was  alone ;  even  Mr.  For- 
dyce had  forsaken  him ;  in  bitterness  of  soul,  he 
went  back  to  his  old  companions. 
•  "  Where  is  William  ? "  asked  Marta,  on  her  re- 
turn. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  sniffed  aunt  Cathy ;  "  he  is  a 
dissipated  young  man :  /  see  little  enough  of 
him." 


I/O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

Marta  left  the  tea-table,  put  on  her  hat,  and 
walked  down  to  the  village.  It  was  a  long  way ; 
but,  instinctively  feeling  there  was  something  be* 
hind  her  uncle's  silence  and  aunt  Cathy's  spite- 
ful air,  she  determined  to  go  in  person  to  find  her 
cousin.  If  he  were  wounded  in  spirit,  he  would 
be  safe  could  she  only  have  him  with  her  again. 
Thinking  only  of  him,  she  walked  up  the  village 
to  the  inn.  Thomas  Hughes,  standing  at  his 
office-door,  came  down  to  meet  her.  She  gave 
one  pitiful  look  at  him,  while  he,  understanding  in- 
stantly what  she  meant  to  do,  walked  on  silently 
by  her  side.  Sounds  of  violin  music  issued  from 
a  room  in  the  inn  ;  Marta  went  straight  towards 
it ;  Thomas  Hughes  followed  her.  They  paused 
before  an  open  door  which  revealed  a  roomful  of 
the  worst  men  in  the  county  drinking,  and  shout- 
ing applause.  William  still  had  the  bow  in  his 
hand,  when  the  inn-keeper  pushed  a  steaming 
glass  of  spirits  towards  him.  He  put  down  his 
violin,  and  raised  the  brandy  to  his  lips ;  as  he 
did  so,  silence  fell  on  the  noisy  brawlers.  What 
seemed  to  them  an  angel  glided,  in  white  robes, 
through  their  midst.  William  awoke  to  the  real- 
ity of  his  position  when  he  saw  Marta's  steadfast 
face  looking  up  at  him.  He  pushed  aside  the 
glass,  threw  his  arm  round  her,  as  if  to  hide  her- 
from  the  sight  of  these  coarse  men,  and  hurried 
her  out  of  the  room. 

"  O  Marta,  Marta  !  never  come  into  this  place 


A    GAME    OF    CRICKET.  I /I 

again,"  he  said,  bending  over  her  with  deep  solici- 
tude, as  if  he  feared  she  must  have  tarnished  her 
white  robes  by  contact  with  the  air  of  the  room 
and  sight  of  those  men  who  were  his  chosen  com- 
panions. But,  no  ;  the  robes  were  unstained  ;  the 
eyes,  so  calm  and  pure,  swam  a  little  with  tears, 
but  the  lips  smiled  lovingly  at  him. 

Neither  of  them  thought  of  Thomas  Hughes ; 
but  he  thought"  for  both  of  them,  and  came  up 
carelessly  carrying  William's  hat  and  violin-case. 
William  snatched  his  hat,  and  crushed  it  down 
over  his  eyes,  and  with  trembling  hands  replaced 
the  violin  in  its  case.  Just  then,  a  pony  carriage 
stopped  in  the  road  ;  a  voice  called  to  Marta.  She 
turned  unwillingly.  Minnie  and  Lillian  Selwyn 
were  in  the  low  phaeton,  with  Crawford  driving 
from  the  high  back  seat. 

"  We  will  drive  you  up  to  the  lodge  gates,"  cried 
Minnie.  "  Do  get  in,  — you  and  William." 

William  hung  back,  but  Thomas  Hughes  took 
his  arm  and  urged  him  forward.  Ere  he  had  made 
up  his  vacillating  mind,  he  found  himself  in  the 
carriage  sitting  opposite  to  Lillian  Selwyn.  He 
took  off  his  hat,  threw  back  his  hair  to  feel  the 
breeze  on  his  brow.  His  eyes  burned ;  his  lips 
were  fever-parched  ;  all  his  higher  nature  was  at 
war  with  the  lower  which  had  made  it  possible  to 
him  to  spend  a  moment  amongst  the  set  from 
whom  Marta  had  rescued  him.  He  despised,  felt 
the  greatest  contempt  for  this  lower  nature,  men- 


1/2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

tally  stamped  it  under  foot.  As  if  it  were  another 
being,  and  could  be  present  to  view  his  superiority 
under  fit  opportunities,  he  began  to  talk  to  Lillian 
Selwyn.  How  readily  his  versatile  nature  found 
fitting  themes  !  How  eloquent  he  could  be !  how 
powerful  in  imagery !  how  perfectly  his  words 
were  chosen !  Crawford  listened  from  the  high 
back  seat  with  open-mouthed  admiration,  and 
nudged  Minnie  to  attract  her  attention.  Minnie 
and  Marta,  however,  were  absorbed  in  their  own 
themes.  Anyone  less  unselfish  than  Crawford 
might  have  felt  left  out  in  the  cold. 

"  Fordyce  comes  home  to-morrow,"  he  said  at 
length,  when  there  was  a  lull  in  the  conversation. 

"  When  did  he  go  away  ? "  asked  Marta,  with  a 
look  at  William,  whose  sudden  look  of  surprise 
gave  her  some  key  to  the  situation. 

"  He  was  telegraphed  for  on  Monday,"  said 
Minnie.  "  His  little  step-sister  had  diphtheria,  I 
believe." 

William  coloured.  He  was  overcome  with 
shame  at  having  doubted  the  loyalty  of  his  friend, 
and  disgusted  at  his  own  want  of  self-control. 
He  longed  to  confess  his  shortcomings  to  one 
whose  strong  hand  could  hold  him  firm  when  his 
own  will  was  so  weak. 

"  I  hope  you  will  play  the  organ  again,"  said 
Lillian.  "  We  enjoyed  it  so  much." 

"  I  cannot  do  so  at  present.  •  Father  has  forbid- 
den me,  but  he  may  modify  his  views  in  time." 


A    GAME    OF    CRICKET.  1/3 

He  looked  bright  and  manly  as  he  spoke.  Cen- 
turies seemed  to  lie  between  this  hour  and  those 
preceding  it  which  had  found  him  at  the  village 
inn,  so  easily  was  this  volatile  nature  impressed 
by  his  surroundings.  It  was  Marta's  steadfast 
heart  which  suffered  most.  How  was  this  weak 
lad  ever  to  travel  over  life's  rough  path,  and  learn 
to  avoid  the  pitfalls  in  his  way  ? 

At  the  brow  of  the  hill,  the  Selwyns  turned 
homewards ;  the  cousins  walked  on  towards  Heav- 
en's Gate.  As  they  climbed  the  hill,  William  was 
wrapt  in  enchantment  with  the  vision  of  the  beau- 
tiful Lillian,  forgetful  of  aught  else ;  while  Marta, 
with  unshed  tears  welling  up  into  her  eyes,  her 
face  raised  to  the  sunset  sky,  made  one  imploring 
prayer  to  God  to  save  her  dear  cousin. 

Her  deep  sigh,  or  half-sob,  broke  on  the  still 
air,  and  recollection  came  to  William.  His  dark- 
est hour  came  on  him,  —  the  hour  in  which  he 
realized  the  weakness  which  was  leading  him  to 
ruin.  He  suffered  anguish  of  mind,  and  flew  to 
Marta  for  comfort.  She  suffered  doubly.  No 
task  is  so  hard  as  to  help  a  weak,  vacillating  soul 
which,  having  no  power  to  brace  itself  for  conflict, 
must  lean  on  another  for  strength.  William  pitied 
himself  with  the  unconscious  selfishness  of  weak 
characters ;  and,  between  self-pity  and  self -blame, 
without  effort  at  self-control,  made  Marta's  burden 
a  heavy  one  to  bear. 

The  next  week  was  indeed  a  weary  one,  relieved 


174  HEAVENS    GATE. 

only  by  visits  from  Reginald,  who  rode  over  fre- 
quently to  read  with  Marta.  He  was  not  in  a 
mood,  however,  to  be  genial  to  William,  for  he 
wanted  his  cousin  all  to  himself.  He  found  that 
he  could  not  keep  her  attention  for  a  moment  un- 
less William  were  included  in  the  conversation. 
He  was  astute  enough  to  perceive  that  Marta  had 
some  secret  anxiety ;  but,  far  from  desiring  to  share 
her  trouble,  he  determined  to  absent  himself  from 
Heaven's  Gate  until  the  cloud  had  vanished.  The 
day  on  which  he  carried  out  his  resolve  brought 
Mr.  Fordyce  back  again.  William  met  him  at  the 
gate,  seized  his  hand,  and  clung  to  it  as  to  a  rock 
of  defence.  That  eager  greeting  would  have  sug- 
gested much  of  William's  needs  to  the  observant 
vicar,  even  if  Thomas  Hughes  had  not  spent  an 
hour  with  him  on  his  return  home  to  supply  all 
the  incidents  of  the  boy's  downfall,  and  Marta's 
brave  attempts  at  rescue.  He  looked  at  the  grace- 
ful, slight  figure  by  his  side  with  a  loving,  deter- 
mined expression. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  in  his  deep  tones, 
"you  do  not  know  how  I  have  missed  your  visits 
since  my  return." 

William  did  not  reply.  He  would  not  be  dis- 
loyal to  his  father. 

"  You  got  my  letter  ? "  continued  Mr.  Fordyce, 
putting  both  hands  on  William's  shoulders,  and 
looking  keenly  into  his  face. 

"No  !  "  cried  the  boy,  flushing.  "  Did  you  write 
to  me  ? " 


A    GAME    OF    CRICKET.  1/5 

"  Yes ;  I  wrote  to  explain  my  absence.  My 
little  sister  had  diphtheria.  I  hope  the  others  will 
escape,  but  I  may  have  to  go  back.  I  have  been 
home  three  days,  but  so  much  business  had  accu- 
mulated during  my  absence,  I  could  not  come  to 
look  after  my  "  — 

He  paused,  for  William  had  taken  his  hands 
again  in  a  very  agony  of  sharne. 

"  I  was  desperate,"  he  said,  manfully.  "  I  thought 
you  had  given  me  up,  and  I  went  straight  to  the 
Devil." 

"Oh,  my  poor  boy,  my  poor  boy!"  said  the 
vicar.  William,  looking  up,  saw  tears  in  his  eyes. 
Then,  in  a  gentle  firm  voice  he  went  on  :  "I  love 
you,  William,  I  shall  never  give  you  up.  Promise 
to  have  faith  in  me  for  the  future." 

"  I  am  not  worth  caring  for,"  muttered  William. 

Mr.  Fordyce  only  answered  by  a  gentle  shake 
of  the  slight  figure,  and  then  suddenly  drew  him 
into  his  arms  and  kissed  him.  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  allowing  the  boy  to  dwell  in  a  morbid  man- 
ner in  analysis  of  his  feelings. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  your  father,"  he  said,  next. 

Just  then,  Mr.  De  Clifford  appeared  at  the  office- 
window  ;  he  stood  glowering,  a  heavy  frown  on 
his  brow,  looking  at  the  inimical  pa'son.  Mr. 
Fordyce,  with  ready  courtesy,  walked  up  to  the 
window. 

"  You  were  good  enough  to  ask  me  to  come  up 
some  day  for  a  game  of  cricket,"  said  he,  cordially. 
"  Will  you  not  come  out  and  watch  the  game  ? " 


176  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

The  old  man  paused,  trying  to  find  words  to  re- 
fuse, but  the  temptation  was  too  much  for  him. 
He  had  heard  many  accounts  of  the  fine  playing 
of  the  vicar.  He  longed  to  see  him,  bat  in  hand. 

"Go  and  get  the  stumps,  William,"  said  he, 
placing  his  hat  on  his  head.  He  came  out,  pipe 
in  hand,  pleased  to  find  the  vicar  waiting  for  him 
on  the  lawn. 

"  May  I  carry  your  chair  to  the  cricket  ground  ? " 
asked  Mr.  Fordyce,  lifting  the  huge  mahogany 
chair,  which  was  placed  on  the  lawn  for  the  old 
man's  especial  use,  as  easily  as  if  it  were  of 
wicker-work. 

"  Good  muscle,  sir,"  remarked  his  laconic  host. 

"  Pretty  fair,"  replied  the  vicar.  "  It  hardly 
gets  all  the  play  it  needs  to  keep  it  up  to  college 
standard,  though.  I  miss  the  rowing.  I  under- 
stand you  were  the  finest  batter  in  the  West 
County,  sir,  some  years  ago." 

"  Yes  ;  I  was  a  good  steady  player,  never  varied 
much  ;  had  a  fine  hit  to  leg,  worth  a  three  on  any 
strange  cricket  ground,"  replied  the  old  man. 
"  William  plays  a  fine  game,  but  he  is  too  excita- 
ble ;  gets  out  as  often  as  not  with  a  duck's  egg." 

Marta  came  into  the  garden  with  aunt  Cathy 
and  the  children.  Imagine  her  amazement  at  see- 
ing her  uncle  amicably  marching  along  by  the  side 
of  the  man  he  had  declared  should  never  again 
cross  his  threshold,  while  William,  in  the  joy  of 
his  heart,  came  along  singing,  and  playing  an  ac- 
companiment with  the  stumps. 


A    GAME    OF    CRICKET.  I?/ 

"  Do  you  want  to  field  for  us  ? "  cried  he,  to  the 
children.  In  answer,  they  flew  along  the  garden, 
vaulting  the  low  wall  into  the  field.  Their  duties 
were  arduous  for  the  next  hour,  for  the  vicar's 
muscle  was  still  equal  to  some  tremendous  hits. 

The  old  man  sat  by  in  a  state  of  high  delight. 
He  loved  cricket  as  the  most  manly  of  national 
games  ;  and,  while  he  despised  a  poor  player,  held 
one  who  played  as  well  as  the  vicar  in  great  re- 
spect as  worth  knowing.  He  made  up  his  slow 
mind,  once  for  all,  that  such  a  manly  fellow  was  a 
good  friend  for  his  son.  Henceforth  the  deacons 
would  lecture  to  deaf  ears,  Mr.  De  Clifford  in- 
tended to  abide  by  his  own  judgement ;  any  one 
who  could  bat  so  steadily  must  be  of  a  steady,  re- 
liable character.  Mr.  Fordyce  little  knew  how 
much  he  gained  in  his  host's  estimation  by  his  fine 
play  with  the  bat. 

"  I  wish  you  would  take  the  bat,  sir,"  said  the 
vicar,  at  length.  "  I  will  bowl  for  you." 

"  Do,  father,"  shouted  William,  across  the  field. 
"Come  along,  Marta ;  father  is  going  to  play." 

Not  only  Marta,  but  the  sour-visaged  aunt  Cathy, 
appeared  at  the  wall. 

"  You  baint  going  to  be  such  a  fool,  be  you  ? " 
she  called  to  her  brother,  who  had  already  doffed 
his  coat,  and  was  spitting  on  his  hands  preparatory 
to  giving  the  ball  a  good  swipe. 

Mr.  Fordyce  bowled  with  great  vigour ;  but  ball 
after  ball  was  steadily  blocked,  until,  at  length,  the 


178  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

bowler  sent  one  that  turned  a  little  from  its  course. 
A  magnificent  play  of  the  bat  sent  it  to  leg,  far 
enough  to  make  a  three,  even  a  four,  if  the  fielding 
were  not  first-rate. 

"  Bravo  !  "  cried  the  vicar.  "  I  never  saw  finer 
play  in  my  life." 

The  old  man  chuckled,  gave  up  the  bat,  and  put 
on  his  coat. 

"  There  is  the  tea-bell,"  said  he.  "  Come  along, 
sir,  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us." 

The  vicar  cordially  smiled  his  acceptance,  as 
he  carried  back  the  heavy  chair.  The  children 
climbed  over  the  wall,  and  went  to  open  the  gar- 
den-door, while  the  party  strolled  in  by  the  easier 
way  of  entrance. 

What  a  cheerful  air  every  thing  wore  at  Heaven's 
Gate  this  afternoon.  Where  was  the  gloom  of  the 
preceding  week  ?  Where  the  heart-rending  anxiety 
which  had  distracted  poor  Marta  ?  Not  a  vestige 
of  it  all  remained ;  every  one  was  at  his  best  and 
happiest. 

The  vicar  spent  the  evening  with  his  friends. 
No  one  enjoyed  his  company  more  than  his  host, 
who,  when  he  left,  pressed  him  to  come  again 
when  he  could  spare  the  time ;  and  to  choose  his 
own  hour,  for,  no  matter  when  he  came,  there  was 
always  to  be  a  welcome,  and  a  knife  and  fork  for 
him  at  Heaven's  Gate. 


MR.    DE    CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH.          179 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MR.    DE   CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH. 

GOOD  feeling  was  restored  between  William 
and  his  father,  and  the  sound  of  cheerful 
whistle  and  song  about  the  house  brought  back 
the  blithe  spirit  of  happiness  to  Marta.  She  felt 
no  more  anxiely  about  her  cousin  ;  he  was  watched 
over  by  a  loving  brother,  in  whose  judicious  care 
she  had  absolute  confidence.  Reginald  came 
over  to  see  how  the  land  lay ;  and,  finding  every 
thing  cheerful  and  bright,  made  himself  very 
delightful,  absorbing  Marta's  attention  without 
hindrance. 

When  Sunday  came,  a  slight  cloud  was  seen  on 
William's  face.  He  was  determined  to  obey  his 
father's  wishes  and  go  to  chapel,  also  to  abstain 
from  taking  part  in  the  service  at  the  church  ;  but 
the  effort  to  do  so  cheerfully  was  too  much  for  his 
weak  nature.  Aunt  Cathy  scented  war,  and  had 
some  especially  exasperating  words  at  her  tongue's 
end,  only  waiting  for  William  to  give  her  an  op- 
portunity to  utter  them.  Mr.  De  Clifford,  on  the 
contrary,  was  genial  in  his  efforts  to  draw  his  son 
into  conversation  on  topics  of  general  interest. 


i8o  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Are  you  going  to  play  the  organ  for  the  vicar 
this  evening,  lad  ? "  he  asked,  presently,  in  a  kind 
tone. 

"  Why,  brother ! "  snapped  aunt  Cathy,  "  of 
course  he  is  not.  We  settled  that  matter  Sunday 
afore  last." 

William  got  up  impatiently,  and  walked  to  the 
window. 

"  Come  back  here,  boy,"  said  his  father,  half 
turning  in  his  chair.  "  I  have  been  thinking  the 
matter  over,  and  if  the  old  vicar  were  here  I 
should  keep  my  word ;  but  I  like  Fordyce.  He 
is  a  straightforward  chap,  —  nothing  shilly-shally 
about  him.  The  more  you  can  do  for  him,  lad, 
the  better  I  shall  be  pleased." 

"  O  father  !  "  cried  William,  darting  forward  to 
shake  hands  with  his  father,  who,  for  his  part,  had 
an  eye  on  aunt  Cathy,  whose  mouth  was  open  with 
determination  to  speak  her  mind.  The  old  man 
rose  with  agility,  and  took  William's  arm. 

"  Let  us  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  mountains," 
said  he.  "  It  is  clear  enough  to  see  the  '  Sugar- 
Loaf  to-day." 

In  happy  mood,  all  but  aunt  Cathy  strolled 
across  the  field.  William  could  hardly  contain  his 
delight.  There  was  something  almost  pathetic  in 
his  grateful  attentions  to  his  father,  who,  on  his 
part,  rejoiced  in  the  opportunity  thus  found  of  re- 
trieving the  blunder  into  which  his  blind  rage  had 
precipitated  him.  Marta  carried  a  small  telescope, 


MR.    DE    CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH.          l8l 

but  no  one  needed  the  aid  of  glasses  this  clear 
morning  to  see  the  peak  of  the  "  Sugar-Loaf " 
amongst  the  Welsh  hills. 

Presently  old  John  came  into  the  field  to  catch 
Jerry,  who  indulged  in  wild  gambols  very  unbe- 
coming to  such  an  old  horse  on  a  Sunday  morning. 
By  the  time  he  was  caught,  and  led  away  by  the 
forelock  with  dejected  mien,  it  was  time  to  get 
ready  for  chapel.  Mr.  De  Clifford  had  made  no 
stipulation  with  regard  to  William's  attendance, 
and  he  was  too  proud  and  too  generous  to  do  so 
now.  When  they  returned  to  the  house,  William 
ran  up-stairs  to  his  room.  Aunt  Cathy  stood  in 
the  hall,  waiting  to  see  him  "show  off,"  as  she 
called  it.  Instead  of  this,  however,  came  Wil- 
liam's cheerful  voice  at  his  father's  door. 

"  Father,  Olga  and  I  are  going  to  take  the  short 
cut  through  the  park.  We  are  going  to  start  now." 

"All  right,  my  lad,"  answered  his  father,  cor- 
dially. 

No  one  knew  how  dear  this  beautiful  lad  was  to 
the  father's  heart,  how  continually  he  brought 
back  the  one  deep  love  of  his  life,  —  the  wife  who 
had  faded  and  died  just  when  he  could  spare  her 
least. 

The  day  passed  happily  ;  a  new  feeling  of  trust 
in  his  father's  love  and  sympathy  pervaded  Wil- 
liam's heart  with  joy.  He  could  laugh  now  at  aunt 
Cathy's  most  virulent  speeches.  After  tea,  he  ran 
up  to  his  room  to  get  ready  for  church.  When  he 


1 82  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

came  down  to  the  hall-door  he  found  the  phaeton 
there. 

"  Halloo,  John  !  what's  that  for  ?  "  cried  he. 

Old  John,  being  tqo  evil  to  answer  civilly,  held 
his  tongue.  Jeremiah  looked  round  with  an  ex- 
pression of  intense  disgust. 

"  Would  you  rather  walk,  or  will  you  drive  us  ? " 
asked  Mr.  De  Clifford,  coming  to  the  hall-door 
struggling  into  his  coat.  Behind  him  was  Marta 
in  her  Sunday  bonnet. 

"  O  father !  " 

"  Come  along,"  said  he,  gruffly,  marching  to  the 
phaeton,  deaf  to  the  objurgations  of  aunt  Cathy 
so  volubly  delivered. 

William  sprang  up  beside  his  father,  took  the 
reins  and  drove  off,  the  happiest  lad  in  the  West 
County. 

A  strain  of  soft  music  fell  on  the  ear  of  the  de- 
lighted vicar  as  he  knelt  at  the  reading-desk ; 
then  came  a  fear  lest  William  had  disobeyed  his 
father.  This  fear,  however,  was  dissipated  at  his 
first  glance  over  the  congregation,  for  there,  in  the 
most  comfortable  corner  of  the  long  unoccupied 
square  pew,  sat  Mr.  De  Clifford  with  Marta  by  his 
side. 

During  the  sermon,  Mr.  De  Clifford  settled  him- 
self into  an  attitude  of  deep  attention  ;  he  wanted 
to  hear  the  arguments,  that  he  might  confute  them 
in  conversation  with  William  after  service.  No 
opportunity  occurred,  however,  for  the  sermon  did 


MR.    DE    CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH.  183 

not  contain  an  idea  not  common  to  all  Christian 
churches.  It  was  a  very  simple  discourse,  aimed 
at  the  faults  in  the  lives  of  his  hearers,  and  deliv- 
ered without  elaboration  of  detail.  If  the  speaker 
were  erudite,  his  sermon  gave  no  token  of  any 
thing  beyond  simple  earnestness.  Mr.  De  Clif- 
ford listened  with  interest,  and  took  home  to  him- 
self some  of  the  speaker's  words,  as  did  every  one 
present. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  sermon,  father?" 
asked  William,  as  they  drove  up  the  lane  to 
Heaven's  Gate. 

"  I  think  he  preaches  as  well  as  he  bats,"  an- 
swered the  old  man,  with  deliberation.  "  He  hits 
right  and  left  with  good,  clear  strokes.  He  gives 
you  no  chance  to  get  a  look  at  the  weak  side  of 
his  position.  No  man  of  mind  could  read  his 
Bible,  and  retain  belief  in  the  baptism  of  infants. 
Depend  on  it,  the  young  man  avoids  controversy 
on  the  subject." 

"  But  he  is  not  one  to  believe  one  thing  and  live 
another,"  said  William.  "  He  must  believe  in  the 
doctrines  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  or  you  would 
not  find  him  one  of  its  parsons." 

"True,"  said  his  father.  "There  is  nothing 
two-faced  about  him.  Well,  maybe  some  day  he 
will  see  his  error." 

"  I  like  the  service  better  than  ours,"  said  Marta, 
calmly.  "  I  like  the  prayers  better." 

"The   prayers    are    good,"    replied    her  uncle, 


184  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

gravely.  "  The  danger  is  of  their  becoming  vain 
repetitions  when  the  novelty  of  hearing  them  has 
worn  away." 

William  checked  his  desire  to  say  that  Mr. 
Graves'  prayers  had  become  "vain  repetitions"  to 
him,  though  this  might  have  been  formulated  as  a 
truth,  as  every  one  in  the  congregation  knew  cer- 
tain turns  and  phrases  by  heart. 

Reginald  paid  frequent  visits  again,  congratu- 
lating himself  on  the  wisdom  he  had  shown  in 
keeping  out  of  the  way  until  the  trouble,  what- 
ever it  might  have  been,  had  passed  over.  He 
was  not  well  pleased,  however,  to  find  the  vicar 
established  as  an  intimate  friend,  continually  pre- 
venting him  from  holding  any  long  t$te-&-tete  with 
Marta.  Of  course,  William,  and  William's  future, 
were  the  topics  which  made  Marta  set  Reginald 
aside  for  the  vicar. 

Mr.  Selwyn  had  offered  the  situation  again  to 
William,  and  it  was  time  the  decision,  one  way  of 
the  other,  was  made.  Mr.  De  Clifford  was  not 
willing  to  let  his  boy  venture  to  London  alone ; 
and,  though  Mr.  Fordyce  thought  that  it  was  a 
good  opening  for  William,  he  exerted  all  his  in- 
fluence to  make  him  be  reasonable,  and  accept  his 
father's  opinion  as  a  command. 

"  Am  I  to  idle  away  my  whole  life  ? "  William 
asked,  impatiently.  "  You  know  that  father  is  too 
proud  to  make  the  partners  give  me  a  situation  in 
the  collieries.  He  gave  me  the  education  of  min- 


MR.    DE    CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH.          185 

ing-engineer  on  purpose;  yet  Mr.  Rolls  has  put 
Percy  in  my  place.  And  he  is  not  a  bit  of  use,  — 
knows  nothing  of  mines." 

Mr.  De  Clifford  made  a  fresh  effort,  backed  by 
Thomas  Hughes,  who  urged  him  to  be  firm  in  de- 
manding a  position  for  his  son.  Mr.  Rolls  met 
the  request  with  dismal  shakes  of  the  head.  And 
the  other  partners,  one  and  all,  declared  William 
to  be  too  unsteady  for  a  place  of  trust.  The  old 
man  went  home  indignant  and  perplexed.  He 
called  his  son,  and  told  him  the  result  of  the  effort 
he  had  made.  William  saw  his  father  indignant 
for  his  sake,  and  his  heart  went  out  to  him  as  it 
had  never  done  before. 

"Father,  let  me  go  to  London,"  he  said.  "I'll 
see  that  you  shall  never  repent  giving  me  my  way. 
I  should  like  to  show  them  I  am  worth  something 
outside  of  the  Forest,  whatever  they  may  think  of 
me  here." 

After  this,  Mr.  De  Clifford  withdrew  his  opposi- 
tion, and  a  week  later  William  set  out  for  London. 

Mr.  De  Clifford  felt  the  separation  keenly,  the 
more  so  since  Thomas  Hughes  had  pointed  out  to 
him  that  the  real  reason  which  actuated  the  part- 
ners lay  in  their  jealousy  of  William's  power  over 
the  miners.  From  a  practical  point  of  view,  Wil- 
liam's services  were  more  valuable  than  those  of 
the  sons  of  the  other  partners ;  and  his  popu- 
larity with  the  colliers  would  soon  have  given  him 
a  position  of  authority  to  which  the  others  would 


1 86  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

never  attain.  Even  Reginald  was  a  little  jealous 
of  the  ease  with  which  William  wielded  the  sceptre 
ot  command  over  the  rough  miners,  who  would,  at 
a  word,  have  followed  him  to  the  world's  end. 

Before  he  left,  Reginald  came  over  daily  to  talk 
with  him  about  the  Swale  colliery,  which,  now  the 
water  was  pumped  out,  began  to  pay  for  working. 
Marta  was  angry  with  him  for  coming.  She 
thought  it  very  mean  of  him  to  try  and  get  all  the 
information  he  could  from  William,  when,  by  a 
single  word,  he  might  have  shown  his  fellow-part- 
ners that  William's  services  were  too  valuable  to 
be  lost  to  the  firm.  Instead  of  doing  so,  he  had 
remained  silent,  and  allowed  Mr.  Rolls  to  speak  of 
his  cousin's  character  as  untrustworthy. 

"Why  do  you  not  go  to  the  gaveller  for  this 
information  ? "  asked  Marta,  calmly,  one  day,  with 
a  look  at  Reginald  which  surprised  him  immensely. 
"  Why  do  you  trouble  William  about  the  colliery, 
when  you  know  his  opinion  is  of  no  value  to  the 
firm  ? " 

"The  gaveller  was  as  drunk  as  a  fiddler  last 
time  I  sent  for  him,"  said  Reginald.  "  And  you 
remember  I  have  always  held  that  William  is  the 
best  mining-engineer  in  the  Forest." 

"  Yet  that  stupid  Percy  Rolls  is  given  William's 
rightful  place,"  said  Marta,  with  a  voice  full  of  in- 
dignation. "You  might  have  prevented  this, 
Reginald." 

"  I  ?    You  give  me  too  much  credit,"  he  replied 


MR.    DE    CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH.          l8/ 

carelessly,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  I  am  only  a 
junior  partner." 

"  Yet  you  think  it  worth  while  to  drive  fourteen 
miles  to  consult  William,"  Marta  continued,  far 
more  indignant  at  the  injustice  with  which  he  was 
treated  than  if  it  had  been  shown  to  herself. 

"  You  ought  to  feel  proud  of  the  compliment," 
said  he,  determined  not  to  be  offended,  wishing 
William  well  out  of  the  way  that  he  might  fall 
back  into  his  old  place  in  Marta's  regard.  He  for- 
got that  he  had  given  her  the  fatal  opportunity  to 
contrast  his  conduct  with  that  of  another  and 
nobler  man.  He  could  never  be  first  again  in 
Marta's  regard. 

No  one  more  openly  resented  William's  leaving 
the  Forest  than  Old  John.  Twenty-five  years  of 
service  had  given  him  a  right  to  speak  freely,  — 
a  right  which  he  had  never  exerted  until  now,  for 
he  was  of  a  taciturn  nature,  and,  though  a  grum- 
bler, loved  a  solitary  life  and  no  listener  to  his 
words.  On  hearing  that  his  favourite,  "Maister 
Willum,"  was  going  to  London,  he  became  elo- 
quent, and,  as  he  called  it,  "pitched  in  to  the 
maister  "  for  giving  his  son  permission  to  leave 
home.  Mr.  De  Clifford  took  it  in  good  part.  In 
truth,  he  was  more  pleased  than  angry. 

"Heaven  knows,"  said  he,  "I  don't  want  my 
boy  to  leave  me." 

Old  John  was  mollified,  and  sank  back  into  his 
usual  taciturn  humour;  but  every  day  of  William's 


1 88  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

absence  found  him  more  gloomy,  his  temper  more 
unbearable.  When  William  was  at  home,  there 
was  always  something  tangible  to  grumble  at,  — 
the  gates  were  left  open,  the  horses  were  driven 
too  fast,  and  brought  home  "all  of  a  sweat,"  or  he 
was  called  upon  to  attend  to  stable-work  at  untow- 
ard hours.  His  whole  heart  was  bound  up  in  his 
master's  children,  and  "  Maister  Willum  "  was  the 
light  of  his  eyes.  He  had  a  mother,  now  nearly  a 
century  old,  who  came  sometimes  to  see  her  son,  — 
an  attention  for  which  he  was  by  no  means  grate- 
ful. When  told  that  she  was  approaching,  he 
would  put  his  head  out  at  the  gate,  swear  at  her, 
and  order  her  home,  though  she  had  walked  seven 
miles  to  see  him,  painfully  hobbling,  leaning  on  a 
stick.  Jennie  and  Olga  looked  on  her  as  a  witch  ; 
Old  John  as  a  nuisance.  She  would  entreat  per- 
mission to  come  in  and  rest,  but  the  inhuman  old 
man  would  refuse  to  open  the  gates  for  her.  She 
would  then  hobble  away  home,  unless  Marta  or 
aunt  Cathy  heard  of  her  presence,  when  John  re- 
ceived a  severe  reprimand,  the  old  mother  was 
borne  tenderly  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  was 
given  a  corner  of  the  settle,  and  fed  with  the  best 
in  the  house.  After  this,  she  sat  by  the  fire  sip- 
ping gin  and  water,  sure  of  being  driven  home  in 
the  pony  carriage  by  the  ladies.  John  was  a 
wicked  old  man  ;  when  opportunity  afforded,  he 
drank.  What  was  good  in  him  was  sheei  virtue, 
since  he  had  no  religion,  nor  any  conception  of 


MR.    DE    CLIFFORD    GOES    TO    CHURCH.          189 

religion.  Once,  indeed,  aunt  Cathy  induced  him 
to  go  to  chapel,  but  he  persisted  in  sitting  in  a 
draught  near  the  door,  caught  a  violent  cold  in 
his  head,  and  lost  all  his  hair.  Ashamed  of  his 
baldness,  and  too  niggardly  to  buy  a  wig,  he  first 
dyed  the  back  of  his  head  until  he  found  the  dye 
expensive,  when  he  resorted  to  black  lead,  with 
which  he  polished  his  skull  till  it  shone.  Ever 
after  that  one  visit  to  chapel  he  refused  to  read 
the  tracts  presented  to  him  by  aunt  Cathy,  openly 
perusing  the  pages  of  "  The  Field "  and  "  The 
Gloucester  Journal "  on  Sunday  instead.  He  was 
so  penurious  that  he  would  hardly  buy  himself 
sufficient  food,  but  was  often  seen  to  steal  the 
meat  given  by  the  cook  to  the  dogs.  His  cottage 
by  the  coach-house  was  comfortably  furnished  for 
him.  On  the  mantle  shelf  were  some  old  china 
ornaments,  and  a  gilt-covered  gingerbread  man 
bought  in  his  youth  as  a  fairing  for  whom  ?  How 
long  ago  ? 


190  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS    IN    THE   LANE. 

THE  Swale  colliery  gave  a  magnificent  prom- 
ise of  success.  Reginald,  in  feverish  excite- 
ment, wrote  a  very  interesting  and  glowing  account 
to  William.  William's  reply  to  these  hopeful 
anticipations  was  expressed  in  a  very  cautious, 
even  anxious,  letter. 

"  Look  out  for  Wye  floods,"  said  he.  "  Remem- 
ber the  old  pit  next  to  ours  is  full  of  water,  take 
care  the  men  do  not  work  into  it.  I  remember," 
he  continued,  "that  the  best  vein  of  coal  runs 
right  down  into  that  pit,  so  keep  a  good  lookout, 
and  trust  the  word  of  the  old  foreman  before  that 
of  the  gaveller." 

"You  had  no  right  to  allow  William  to  leave 
the  Forest,"  said  Thomas  Hughes,  sternly,  to  his 
fellow-partners,  when  this  letter  was  read.  "  He 
is  the  man  we  need  in  Percy  Rolls's  place,  being 
the  best  engineer  we  have  ever  had  in  the  Forest. 
He  knows  what  he  is  talking  about ;  and  /  hope, 
for  one,  that  his  warning  will  not  be  disregarded." 

Silence  followed  this  speech.  Every  one  felt 
uncomfortable,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  De  Clif- 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  IQI 

ford,  who  smoked  his  pipe  stolidly,  with  not  a  little 
pride  in  his  heart.  Had  Reginald  chosen  to  urge 
the  firm  to  send  for  his  cousin,  and  put  him  in 
charge  of  the  mine,  they  would  have  caught  at  the 
suggestion.  He  was  withheld,  however,  by  a 
deeper  feeling  than  jealousy.  He  feared  that  the 
honest  William  would  condemn  the  mine,  and  re- 
fuse to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  the  working  of 
it,  and  he  knew  that,  if  such  were  his  opinion,  not 
a  collier  would  go  down  again  into  the  pit. 

"Did  you  see  the  huge  block  of  coal  they 
brought  up  yesterday, — a  three-foot  cube?"  he 
asked,  carelessly.  "  The  best  coal  in  the  Forest, 
/  call  it." 

"  The  quality  I  grant  to  be  good,"  said  Thomas 
Hughes;  "but  I  wish  we  had  never  bought  the 
mine,  I  feel  afraid  of  a  disaster.  I  never  approved 
of  the  speculation,  as  you  must  remember." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  not  refuse  your  share  of 
the  profits  ? "  sneered  Reginald,  and  shrugged  up 
his  shoulders,  as  he  walked  away,  in  a  contemptuous 
manner  that  concealed  much  real  anxiety,  however. 

"  I  think  with  you,  Thomas,"  said  Mr.  De  Clif- 
ford, suddenly.  "  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if 
any  accident  happened,  and  lives  were  lost.  I 
hope  the  foreman  will  be  very  careful." 

"You  want  an  engineer  down  there  all  the 
time,"  grumbled  Thomas,  as  he  rose.  "Gentle- 
men, I  vote  we  try  to  get  William  back." 

With  this,  he,  too,  left  the  room.     As  he  walked 


IQ2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

away,  they  noticed  his  drooping  head  and  shuffling 
gait.  His  shoulders  stooped  as  with  a  sudden 
accession  of  years. 

"Thomas,  like  the  rest  of  us,  is  growing  old," 
said  Mr.  Reece. 

Mr.  Rolls  was  still  at  the  village  inn.  His  wife, 
a  little  wizened  old  woman,  kept  him  company. 
He  appeared  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the  village 
folk,  and  had  a  singular  practice  of  bringing  the 
name  of  Thomas  Hughes  into  his  conversations. 
So  deeply  did  he  seem  to  admire  this  benevolent 
man,  that  the  people  felt  no  scruple  in  informing 
him  on  any  subject.  He  pondered,  poked,  and 
spied,  put  down  all  the  evidence  he  had  gained 
against  him,  and  still  could  not  find  any  thing  so 
tangible  as  to  give  him  cause  to  arouse  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  trusting  firm. 

"  If  he  had  not  paid  the  purchase-money  so 
promptly,  I  should  have  been  certain,"  soliloquized 
Mr.  Rolls.  "As  it  is,  private  speculations  might 
explain  his  large  expenditure.  If  only  my  part- 
ners were  men  of  business !  At  present,  I  dare 
not  hint  my  suspicions  of  the  probity  of  our 
saintly  friend." 

He  was  sauntering  along  the  village  lanes, 
buried  in  thought,  when  a  carriage  passed,  and 
drew  up  at  his  side.  Looking  round,  he  saw  Mr. 
Selwyn  with  Mr.  Smith,  the  manager  of  a  Glouces- 
ter bank,  at  his  side.  The  firm  had  kept  its  sur- 
plus funds  in  this  bank  for  more  than  a  century, 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  193 

and  was  justly  proud  of  a  proverbially  honourable 
position  in  the  business  world. 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  speak  to  the  sleeping 
partner  of  the  firm  on  business  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Selwyn,  pleasantly. 

"  Business  ?  Ah !  my  dear  fellow,  at  my  age  all 
business  thoughts  and  habits  are  buried  in  a  long, 
long  past.  Do  you  want  to  trust  to  any  little  ex- 
perience I  may  have  gained,  I  am  at  your  service." 
Here  Mr.  Rolls  smiled  blandly,  and  looked  like  a 
little  weather-beaten  ape,  and  every  whit  as  cun- 
ning. 

"Nay,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  with  regard  to 
your  own  concerns,"  said  Mr.  Selwyn,  gravely. 
"  I  hope  you  will  believe  I  mean  kindly  in  so  doing. 
I  feel  myself  placed  in  a  false  position  when  the 
business  man  of  your  firm  offers  me  large  quan- 
tities of  coal  at  cost  price." 

"  Sir !  "  cried  Mr.  Rolls,  shrilly.     "  Our  firm  ? " 

"  Your  firm,  my  dear  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Sel- 
wyn, quietly.  "  The  plea  given,  was  lack  of  funds 
wherewith  to  pay  the  workmen  their  weekly  wage. 
I  assure  you,  sir,  that  the  high  position  your  firm 
has  justly  held  for  over  a  century  is  materially 
jeopardized  by  such  an  application. .  If  your  affairs 
are  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  why  add  to  your 
expenses  by  the  purchase  of  a  new  colliery?" 

"Sir,  I  fail  to  understand  you,"  replied  Mr. 
Rolls,  with  dignity.  "  It  appears  to  me  that  you 
are  under  the  impression  our  firm  is  short  of 


IQ4  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

money.  Now  is  a  favourable  time  for  reassuring 
you  on  this  subject,  since  Mr.  Smith  is  present  to 
corroborate  my  word.  To  say  nothing  of  any  pri- 
vate means  pertaining  to  members  of  our  firm, 
and  you  know  our  friends  De  Clifford  and  Reece 
inherited  fortunes,  and  the  world  credits  me  with 
a  fair  amount  of  wealth,  though,  to  be  sure,  my 
family  is  a  large  and  expensive  one ;  still,  as  I  was 
going  to  observe,  we  keep  a  standing  capital  of 
twenty  thousand  pounds  in  our  banker's  hands." 

The  gentlemen  listened  to  this  involved  speech 
with  attention.  Mr.  Selwyn  looked  relieved,  the 
banker  stared  at  the  ponies'  ears  without  moving 
a  muscle  of  his  face. 

"  Kindly  corroborate  my  word,  friend  Smith," 
said  Mr.  Rolls,  taking  from  his  pocket  his  silk 
handkerchief  which  he  flourished  with  dignity. 
"  And  this  week  we  will  have  the  mistake  printed, 
with  clear  statements  of  the  facts,  in  the  '  Forester.' 
It  will  not  do  for  ill  reports  to  get  about  the 
country." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  speak  before  Mr.  Selwyn, 
sir?"  asked  Mr.  Smith,  with  evident  astonishment. 

"  Most  certainly  !  Before  the  whole  world,  if 
you  like,"  replied  Mr.  Rolls,  in  an  irascible  manner. 

"Then  the  firm  of  which  you  count  yourself 
sleeping  partner  has  not  a  thousand  pence  to  its 
credit,"  said  the  banker,  in  an  emphatic  tone. 
"The  business  has  been  carried  on  by  clever 
'  kite-flying '  for  a  long  time,  but  it  must  come  to 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  IQ5 

an  end  now,  as  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  it.  Your  firm  has  paid  no  less  than  ten 
thousand  within  the  year  in  discounting  bills." 

Mr  Rolls  looked  stunned  ;  he  stared  at  Mr. 
Smith  as  if  to  read  that  this  was  some  huge  mis- 
take. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ? "  he  cried. 

"  I  am  as  much  in  earnest  as  I  see  you  are  sur- 
prised," said  he.  "Your  own  signature  has  ap- 
peared on  so  many  of  the  papers  "  — 

"My  signature?"  Mr.  Rolls  fairly  shrieked. 
"  Sir,  you  insult  me  by  the  bare  idea.  Our  firm 
has  never,  to  our  knowledge,  done  aught  but 
a  .straightforward  business,  and  /  have  never 
signed  "  — 

"  I  assure  you,  your  name  has  come  before  me 
very  frequently  within  the  last  ten  days." 

Mr.  Rolls  became  silent  in  despair. 

"Oblige  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said  presently,  "by 
keeping  silence  on  this  matter.  We  must  be 
wary,  and  leave  no  loop-hole  of  escape  for  "  — 

"  Thomas  Hughes,"  said  the  banker,  quietly. 

"You  are  aware,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Rolls,  "that  the 
very  hedges  have  ears.  No  names,  if  you  please." 

"  Can  I  help  you  in  any  way  ? "  asked  Mr.  Sel- 
wyn.  "  My  impression  that  you  were  unaware  of 
Mr.  Hughes's  application  to  me,  caused  me  to 
stop  you  to-day.  The  shock  has  overpowered  you, 
I  see.  Come  into  the  park  and  take  luncheon,  I 
beg  of  you." 


196  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"I  am  an  old  man,"  said  Mr.  Rolls,  —  "a  self- 
made  man,  who  has  been  proud  to  boast  of  an 
honourable  business  career.  Sir,  if  you  will  drive 
me  up  to  Heaven's  Gate,  where  I  know  I  shall 
find  Reginald  Reece,  you  will  be  doing  me  a  real 
act  of  charity,  for  my  old  legs  tremble  under  me." 

"I  will  accompany  you,  I  may  be  of  assist- 
ance," said  Mr.  Smith;  "and  I  will  take  charge 
of  the  ponies." 

Mr.  Selwyn  gave  up  his  seat  to  the  banker,  as- 
sisted Mr.  Rolls  into  the  phaeton,  and  walked 
home.  The  two  business  men,  in  close  converse, 
drove  up  to  Heaven's  Gate. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  carriage  came  to  the 
school-house  for  the  children.  Old  John,  who  was 
driving,  was  crosser  than  usual.  He  sent  more 
than  one  message  to  hurry  the  children,  and, 
when  they  appeared,  lifted  them  into  their  places, 
and  drove  off  at  a  furious  rate. 

"  I  always  knowed  as  he  was  a  bad  'un,"  Olga 
heard  him  mutter  from  time  to  time.  "  I  knowed 
as  how  he  weren't  up  to  no  good.  I  could  a  telled 
they,  only  they  'ouldn't  a  believed  me  agin'  him." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  John  ?  " 

"  Little  pitchers,"  he  said,  sourly.  "A  man  can 
speak,  if  he  has  a  mind  to,  I  s'pose." 

When  Heaven's  Gate  came  in  sight,  he  spoke 
less  gruffly. 

"'Now  don't  go  for  to  trouble  Miss  Marta.     I 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  197 

told  her  as  'ow  I'd  come  and  tell  you.  Miss  Cathy, 
she's  a  screamin'  in  high-strikes ;  and  Miss  Marta, 
she's  got  enough  to  do,  with  your  father  lying  there 
not  knowin'  nobody." 

"  Is  father  ill  ? "  asked  both  children,  in  a  breath. 

"  He's  been  took  suddent,  and  pretty  bad  too. 
Miss  Marta  she  sent  for  me  to  come  and  help 
carry  him  up-stairs.  I  put  he  to  bed  for  her,  and 
then  I  come  for  you." 

No  more  was  said.  The  gate  was  reached ; 
the  children  sprang  down  and  rushed  into  the 
house. 

"  Marta,  O  Marta  !  what  is  it  ? "  they  cried,  as 
they  met  her  in  the  hall. 

"  Uncle  has  been  very  ill,"  she  said.  "  But  Dr. 
Herly  was  here,  and  able  to  relieve  him  at  once, 
or  I  fear  he  would  have  died.  You  must  be  very 
quiet,  children." 

"  What  made  him  ill  ? "  they  asked. 

"  He  heard  some  very  bad  news.  Some  one 
whom  he  trusted  has  wronged  and  deceived  him," 
replied  Marta,  gently.  "Do  not  ask  any  ques- 
tions, children." 

"We  will  not,"  they  answered. 

Then,  when  aunt  Cathy's  shrill  voice  was  heard 
screaming,  Olga  said  at  once,  — 

"  Jennie,  we  can  wait  on  aunt  Cathy,  can't  we  ? " 

They  knew  that  any  domestic  trouble  was  met 
by  their  aunt  by  a  fit  of  hysterics,  during  which 
she  would  scream  and  ring  her  bell,  with  constant 


198  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

demands  on  the  distracted  household  for  atten- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  children  !  you  will  relieve  me  so 
much,"  said  Marta,  hugging  them  in  her  arms  be- 
fore she  went  back  to  her  uncle's  room. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  exaggerate  the  self- 
denial  required  by  the  children  in  undertaking  the 
charge  of  this  querulous  old  woman.  They  did 
their  work  so  well,  however,  that  Marta  could  pay 
undivided  attention  to  her  uncle,  until  they  softly 
came  to  summon  her  to  tea. 

Reginald  came  in,  white  with  suppressed  rage. 
He  had  the  books  under  his  arm,  and  set  them 
down  with  emphasis  on  the  side-board,  coming 
to  the  table  too  indignant  to  eat.  Nothing  but 
the  intense  calm  of  Marta's  pale  face  kept  back  the 
bitter  words  he  longed  to  say.  He  realized  the 
folly  of  the  position  the  older  partners  had  taken 
in  thus  blindly  trusting  their  working  partner. 
He  blamed  their  love  of  ease  as  much  as  Thomas 
Hughes's  greed  for  speculation. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  back  with  me  to-night  ?  " 
asked  Dr.  Herly. 

"  Not  if  Marta  can  give  me  the  spare-room 
here,"  he  replied.  "  Mr.  Rolls  is  coming  up  after 
tea  to  look  into  the  books  with  me.  We  shall  not 
be  in  your  way,  Marta ;  we  shall  be  in  the  office. 
It  will  save  us  time,  and  time  is  every  thing  to  us 
now." 

"Then  I  will  go,"  said  Dr.  Herly.  "I  shall  re- 
turn early  to-morrow  morning,  Miss  Marta." 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  1 99 

"Your  cousin  has  wonderful  self-control  and 
nerve,"  he  said  to  Reginald,  as  they  walked  down 
the  garden  to  the  carriage. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  believe  she  feels  it  much.  She 
does  not  care  for  money." 

"  Money  ? "  replied  the  doctor,  sternly.  "With 
death  in  the  house,  do  you  think  she  could  care 
for  money  ? " 

"  Death  ? " 

"  Apoplexy  in  a  man  of  Mr.  De  Clifford's  size 
means  that  sooner  or  later." 

"  You  said  he  was  out  of  danger,"  said  Regi- 
nald, in  a  bored  tone. 

"  For  the  time  ;  but  any  agitation  of  mind  may 
bring  on  another  attack." 

"  It's  a  bad  business  for  all  of  us,"  said  Regi- 
nald, in  a  surly  tone.  "Well,  good-night." 

The  doctor  drove  away ;  Reginald  sauntered 
down  the  road,  listening  for  the  sound  of  wheels. 
At  length  a  carriage  came  in  sight  in  which  were 
Mr.  Rolls,  and  his  son  Owen,  who  had  lately  been 
assisting  Thomas  Hughes  in  the  office.  Mr. 
Rolls,  once  famed  as  an  accountant,  threw  off  the 
dilettante  manner  which  he  had  of  late  years  as- 
sumed, and  threw  all  his  shrewd  mind  into  unrav- 
elling the  falsified  accounts.  The  hours  of  the 
night  stole  on.  The  boy  Owen  fell  asleep  at  his 
desk,  but  Reginald  worked  side  by  side  with  Mr. 
Rolls,  bringing  all  his  intelligence  to  bear  upon 
the  mazes  of  figures. 


2OO  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"We  shall  lose  thirty  thousand  pounds,  —  thirty- 
five,  counting  the  paper  Smith  tells  us  is  out  in 
our  names." 

"A  regular  case  of  ruin,"  groaned  Reginald. 

"  Ruin  ?  Not  quite,"  said  Mr.  Rolls,  who,  though 
a  mean  man  in  trifles,  was  of  great  probity  as  a 
business  man.  "  It  will  be  a  loss  of  over  ten  thou- 
sand pounds  to  each  of  the  senior  members  of  the 
firm.  But  we  are  good  for  as  much  as  that.  We 
shall  establish  our  business  on  its  old  basis,  and 
keep  our  stand  as  an  honourable  firm.  I  call  noth- 
ing ruin  while  we  can  pay  the  accounts  against  us, 
and  keep  our  heads  above  water." 

"  It  will  impoverish  us  greatly,"  grumbled  Regi- 
nald. 

"  Well,  well !  We  have  our  own  blindness  to 
thank  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Rolls.  "I  have  suspected 
him  of  some  kind  of  villainy  for  some  time." 

He  then  proceeded  to  show  Reginald  his  reasons 
for  supposing  that  Thomas  Hughes's  expenditure 
must  have  been  far  beyond  his  income,  and  how 
difficult  the  other  partners  had  made  investigation 
by  their  absolute  faith  in  their  manager. 

"  Well,  we  shall  have  to  make  money  now,"  said 
Reginald. 

"  We  must  hope  the  new  colliery  will  pay,"  said 
Mr.  Rolls. 

"  It  must,  it  shall ! "  muttered  Reginald,  between 
his  teeth.  "We  are  on  a  splendid  vein  of  coal 
now." 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  2OI 

"I  wonder  how  Thomas  sleeps  to-night,"  said 
Mr.  Rolls.  For  Thomas  Hughes  was  lodged  in 
Bristol  jail. 

The  next  day,  with  returning  consciousness,  Mr. 
De  Clifford  implored  Marta  to  send  for  Mr.  Rolls. 
Just  then,  that  gentleman  stopped  at  Heaven's 
Gate  on  his  way  to  "The  Hollies."  Marta  called 
him  in,  and  gave  him  her  uncle's  message. 

"  I  believe  he  will  be  more  at  rest  when  once  he 
knows  every  thing,"  said  she.  "Do  not  excite 
him,  but  do  not  try  to  make  him  think  there  is 
nothing  wrong,  as  Reginald  tells  me  I  ought  to  do* 
He  remembers  what  has  happened." 

Mr.  Rolls  went  up-stairs  into  the  room  with  a 
cheerful,  brisk  step. 

"Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  friend,"  said  he.  "I 
went  into  the  figures  last  night,  and,  though  I  see 
the  loss  is  heavy  to  us  all,  we  can  pay  our  way, 
and  establish  our  name  as  more  honourable  than 
ever.  That,  I  take  it,  is  your  chief  anxiety,  as  it 
is  mine.  My  money  I  am  willing  to  lose,  since  it 
is  too  late  to  prevent  the  loss,  but  our  position  as 
a  firm  "  — 

"How  much?"  asked  Mr.  De  Clifford,  anx- 
iously. 

"  About  all  I  have  ever  managed  to  scrape  to- 
gether; but  then,  you  know  my  forbears  were 
working  men,  —  moneyless.  It  will  cost  us  over 
ten  thousand  apiece,  partner,  to  right  ourselves." 


2O2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

A  look  of  relief  passed  over  Mr.  De  Clifford's 
countenance. 

"  Set  things  right  at  the  bank  as  soon  as  you 
can.  I  will  give  you  a  check,"  said  he.  "  Marta, 
my  check-book." 

"I  gave  Smith  a  check  yesterday,"  said  Mr. 
Rolls.  "  Here  is  his  receipt,  so  that's  all  right. 
Don't  trouble  about  the  business.  Reginald  and 
I  are  to  the  fore,  and  we  shall  do  every  thing  to 
keep  up  our  honourable  name." 

A  few  more  cheerful  remarks,  and  Mr.  Rolls 
bade  his  partner  farewell,  and  followed  Marta 
through  the  long  corridor  to  the  hall. 

"  You  have  done  him  good,"  said  she,  gratefully. 

"  Nothing  is  worse  for  a  man  in  his  condition 
than  suspense,"  he  replied.  "And  it  is  for  our 
interest  to  put  him  in  working-order  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  in  some  departments  of  the  business 
he  has  no  equal.  It  is  only  within  the  last  ten 
years  that  he  has  put  so  much  in  Hughes's  hands." 

"Since  the  death  of  my  aunt,"  said  Marta, 
softly. 

"  Ah  !  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Rolls,  quickly.  "  Well, 
cheer  up,  young  lady,  better  days  are  at  hand." 

With  these  words,  he  mounted  his  hired  gig  and 
drove  off  to  "The  Hollies." 

Dr.  Herly  came  soon  after.  He  found  his  pa- 
tient decidedly  better.  Marta  told  him  of  Mr. 
Rolls's  cheerful  visit,  and  said  this  was  the  result. 

"  Don't  let  your  cousin  Reginald  see  him,"  said 


MR.    SELWYN    MEETS    MR.    ROLLS.  2O3 

the  doctor.  "  Mr.  Rolls  knows  what  to  say,  and 
how  to  say  it ;  but  Reginald  is  too  much  excited 
over  the  business  to  be  allowed  admittance  to  a 
sick-room." 

"  I  see  that,"  said  Marta,  sighing. 

"  William  ought  to  be  here  to  act  for  his  father," 
said  Dr.  Herly,  suddenly.  "  Tell  him  so  from  me." 

"  I  have  not  his  address,"  said  she.  "  He  wrote 
to  me,  saying  that  he  had  moved  his  lodgings,  but 
forgot  to  give  the  new  address.  He  is  doing  so 
well  in  London  I  should  be  sorry  to  recall  him." 

She  took  his  last  letter  from  her  pocket  and 
gave  it  to  the  doctor,  who  read  it  with  great  inter- 
est and  pleasure.  It  gave  a  bright  picture  of  a 
life  whose  intellectual  occupations  suited  him,  and 
was  written  in  a  healthy  tone. 

"  All  is  well  with  him,  I  see  ;  that  is  a  com- 
fort," said  the  doctor. 


2O4  HEAVEN  S   GATE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  nPROUBLES  never  come  singly,"  says  the 
A  old  saw,  and  "Troubles  never  come  singly," 
croaked  aunt  Cathy  day  by  day.  "I  feel  in  my 
bones  there's  more  to  come." 

"  Damn  your  bones ! "  ejaculated  her  poor 
brother,  as,  hour  after  hour,  she  made  her  ill- 
omened  prophecy.  His  temper  was  tried  by  find- 
ing that  his  weakness  prevented  him  from  taking 
his  full  share  in  the  business  of  investigation, 
where  his  services  were  needed  by  the  firm. 

"  Is  there  no  letter  from  William,  Marta  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  No,  father,"  she  replied,  cheerfully.  Since 
his  illness  she  had  called  him  more  often  "father" 
than  uncle ;  she  saw  that  he  was  gratified  at  re- 
ceiving the  more  affectionate  greeting.  "We 
shall  hear  soon,  however,  I  am  sure.  Shall  I  read 
you  his  last  letter  again  ? " 

"  You  may  if  you  like,"  he  said,  gruffly.  Marta 
had  read  this  letter  to  him  at  least  once  every  day 
ever  since  he  had  been  ill.  She  took  it  from  her 


SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVEN'S  GATE.   2O$ 

uncle's  breast-pocket,  and  began  to  read  it  again  ; 
just  as  she  opened  it,  Mr.  Fordyce  came  in. 

"  Do  not  let  me  interrupt  you,"  he  said,  looking 
at  the  letter.  "  I  will  go  out  and  play  with  the 
children  until  you  are  at  leisure." 

"No,  no!  Sit  down,  man,"  said  his  host.  "It's 
only  an  old  letter  from  our  boy ;  Marta  likes  to 
read  it  over  and  over,  and  I  must  say  it's  a  good 
letter,  sir,  and  speaks  well  for  the  boy." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  it,"  said  the  vicar,  turn- 
ing to  the  window  a  very  troubled  glance,  which 
he  felt  he  could  not  hide  from  Marta.  The  letter 
was  read,  often  interrupted  by  chuckles  of  satis- 
faction from  Mr.  De  Clifford. 

"It  is  a  very  nice  letter,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce, 
heartily.  "  He  is  a  fine  fellow." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  De  Clifford,  proudly.  "He 
is  a  fine  lad,  my  William,  though  I  know  some 
people  won't  see  it.  I  know  he  has  principle,  and 
he  is  going  to  show  us  what  he  can  do,  now  he  is 
away  on  his  own  responsibility." 

"You  must  miss  him  very  much,"  said  Mr. 
Fordyce. 

"  I  miss  him  more  than  I  ever  thought  to  do, 
sir.  I  miss  the  sound  of  his  violin,  too,  and  his 
snatches  of  song  about  the  house." 

"  Father,"  cried  Olga,  from  the  window,  "  Mr. 
Rolls  wants  you  in  the  office." 

"I  will  come,  child,"  he  said,  rising.  "Don't 
go,  sir,"  —  to  the  vicar.  "  Stop  and  take  a  cup  of 
tea  with  us." 


206  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  Marta  said,  gently,  — 

"You  have  bad  news  for  us  about  William,  I 
am  sure.  Has  he  written  to  you  ? " 

"  No  :  I  have  not  heard  from  him  for  ten  days," 
replied  Mr.  Fordyce  ;  "  but  I  have  a  letter  here, 
from  a  son  of  Lord  Clyde,  which  makes  me  anx- 
ious. You  cannot  think  how  it  grieves  me  to 
bring  you  bad  tidings,  especially  now  when  your 
uncle  is  feeling  so  hopeful  about  him,  poor  boy." 

He  gave  her  the  letter  as  he  spoke.  Marta  sat 
down  by  the  window,  partially  concealed  by  the 
heavy  curtain,  so  that  her  uncle  might  not  see  the 
letter  if  he  came  suddenly  into  the  room.  She 
wanted,  if  possible,  to  keep  the  bad  news  from 
him,  but,  try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  keep 
back  tears  of  disappointment. 

Olga  ran  up  to  the  window  to  show  some  chrys- 
anthemums she  had  just  picked  for  Mr.  Fordyce. 
Marta  waved  her  away,  and  bent  over  the  letter. 
The  vicar  stood  beside  her,  his  strong  arms  folded 
over  his  breast,  his  face  set  with  stern  determina- 
tion. Whatever  William  had  done,  or  left  undone, 
he  was  ranged  on  his  side  against  the  enemy. 

"  We  have  had  an  extraodinary  episode  enacted 
here  within  the  last  week,"  ran  the  letter.  "  My 
father's  new  secretary  turned  out  to  be  a  musical 
genius  of  the  first  water.  Some  of  us  fellows 
found  out  that  he  played  the  violin  in  the  most 
exquisite  manner.  We  told  my  Lady  Clyde  (who, 
as  you  know,  is  always  on  the  lookout  for  neg- 


SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVEN'S  GATE.   2O/ 

lected  genius),  and  she  made  a  lion  of  him,  much 
against  his  will.  She  got  up  a  musical  party  in 
his  honour,  and  he  played  and  sang  divinely,  car- 
rying all  before  him  ;  for,  as  you  know,  the  fellow 
is  an  aristrocrat  in  manner  and  looks,  and  as  en- 
tertaining in  conversation  as  in  his  music.  When 
the  party  was  over,  we  carried  him  off  to  a  cham- 
pagne supper  at  the  club,  and,  what  with  the  ex- 
citement and  the  wine,  we  had  some  trouble  in 
getting  him  back  to  his  room  without  my  father 
hearing  the  row.  Well,  of  course,  next  day 
brought  him  a  flood  of  invitations  to  musical 
parties.  To  our  surprise,  he  refused  them  all, 
and  shut  himself  up  in  the  most  unsociable 
manner.  He  very  politely,  but  firmly,  refused  the 
continual  demands  my  lady  made  for  music,  and 
utterly  offended  her  by  refusing  to  be  made  a  lion 
a  second  time.  He  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  us,  either.  This,  of  course,  was  not  to  be 
borne,  so  a  jolly  lot  of  us  went  to  smoke  him  out 
of  his  den  one  evening.  We  had  our  hands  full,  I 
can  tell  you,  before  we  could  carry  him  off;  and,  as 
Delia  Torre  was  with  us,  I  believe  I  may  say  we 
succeeded  by  force  at  last.  We  adjourned  to  the 
Burlington  for  a  drink,  and  after  that,  we  carried 
him  against  his  will  (for,  by  my  faith,  he  is  some- 
thing of  a  Puritan),  to  the  theatre  where  Stella  is 
performing  her  famous  rdle" 

Marta  laid  down  the  letter,  blinding  tears  swam 
in  her  sweet  eyes. 


2o8  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Mr.  Fordyce,"  she  said,  suppressing  a  sob,  "  I 
cannot  see  to  read  it.  Will  you  tell  me  what  hap- 
pened when  they  took  him  to  the  theatre  ? " 

He  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  gently  took  her 
hand. 

"  The  foolish  boys  had  been  drinking  enough  to 
excite  them,"  he  said,  "  and  Delia  Torre  is  a  wild 
fellow,  I  expect  at  the  bottom  of  all  that  followed. 
They  made  a  slight  disturbance  as  they  took  their 
seats  in  his  box  at  the  theatre,  so  that  they  at- 
tracted a  great  deal  of  attention.  Unfortunately, 
something  went  wrong  with  the  scenic  arrange- 
ments, and  great  impatience  was  manifested  by 
the  people  in  the  pit  and  galleries.  The  heedless 
boys  urged  William  to  sing  a  song  to  keep  the  house 
quiet.  The  drink  which  they  had  forced  upon  him 
had  taken  its  effect,  and  he  was  absolutely  reck- 
less of  consequences.  He  acceded  to  the  urgent 
request  of  his  companions,  and  stood  up  in  the 
box  and  sang  the  'Death  of  Nelson'  magnificently. 
When  he  had  finished  (while  he  sang  there  was 
absolute  silence),  the  whole  house,  from  pit  to 
gallery,  demanded  an  encore.  In  vain  the  stage- 
manager  pronounced  the  play  ready  to  proceed; 
nothing  would  satisfy  the  audience  until  the  encore 
was  given.  William  repeated  the  last  verse ;  and 
then,  suddenly  sobered  by  the  torrent  of  applause, 
sat  down  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  at  the 
back  of  the  box.  One  of  the  boys  went  up  to  him 
and  spoke  a  few  words ;  he  raised  his  face,  which 


SHADOWS    DEEPEN    AT    HEAVEN'S    GATE.'     2OQ 

tvas  white  and  drawn,  and  said,  '  You  have  ruined 
me  ;  you  have  made  me  forget  that  I  have  a  father 
and  sister,  whose  hearts  will  be  broken  by  this 
night's  work.  Do  not  speak  to  me  again  ! ' 

"  He  rose  and  left  the  theatre,  and  went  back  to 
his  room.  Unfortunately,  Lord  and  Lady  Clyde 
had  been  present  during  the  whole  scene,  and 
were  much  exasperated  at  the  notice  William's 
fine  singing  drew  to  the  box,  where  Harry  Clyde 
was  sitting  in  full  view  of  the  house. 

"  Lord  Clyde  wrote  William  a  few  lines  that 
night,  saying  'he  desired  the  services  of  a  less 
gifted  man  as  his  secretary.'  Harry  Clyde  says 
he  went  to  his  father  with  the  whole  story  next 
morning,  and  Lord  Clyde  regretted  his  severity ; 
but  too  late, — William  was  gone.  I  believe  Harry 
wrote  me  this  long  account  to  ease  his  own  con- 
science, and  show  me  how  little  William  was  to 
blame." 

"William  alone  in  London,  and  in  disgrace!" 
cried  Marta,  the  tears  driven  back  from  her  eyes. 
In  sorrow  and  despair  she  went  on :  "  Oh,  that 
fatal  weakness  !  How  can  he  let  himself  be  ruled 
by  such  men  ?  Poor  boy !  he  tried  to  keep  straight. 
He  knew  he  was  acting  against  his  best  nature, 
and  yet  gave  way  to  temptation." 

"  That  consciousness  will  lead  him  to  his  salva- 
tion yet,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce.  "  I  have  not  the 
heart  to  blame  him  severely  for  this  affair.  He 
showed  all  through  more  firmness  than  I  had  given 


2IO  -HEAVENS    GATE. 

him  credit  for  possessing  in  making  such  a  long 
resistance."  . 

"  What  can  we  do  ? "  cried  Marta,  nearly  dis- 
tracted by  such  a  culmination  of  anxieties.  "  Poor 
uncle  !  Can  we  keep  it  from  him,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  impossible.  The  Sel- 
wyns  will  hear  of  it,  and  Mr.  De  Clifford  will  soon 
perceive  that  something  is  wrong ;  and  suspense 
is  worse  for  him  than  knowing  the  worst." 

"  William  alone  in  London,  hiding  from  us ! 
Oh  !  what  can  be  done  for  him  ?  "  cried  Marta. 
"  If  I  could  go  to  look  for  him ;  if  uncle  will  let 
me"- 

" You,  who  have  never  been  in  the  city?-"  said 
Mr.  Fordyce,  hardly  able  to  suppress  a  smile  at 
the  idea.  "  No ;  I  am  going  myself.  I  start  by 
the  night  express." 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are ! "  said  Marta,  holding 
fast  to  the  strong  hands  that  were  put  out  to  meet 
hers. 

"  You  forget,"  he  said,  gently,  laying  one  of  her 
hands  softly  against  his  lips.  "  It  is  my  work." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  her  that  he  had  tele- 
graphed to  his  friend,  who  worked  for  the  same 
Master  in  the  heart  of  London.  With  the  help  of 
Marcus,  who  knew  London  like  a  book,  it  would 
not  be  so  very  difficult  to  find  the  despairing  boy. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  show  this  letter  to  your 
uncle,"  said  the  vicar,  as  Mr.  De  Clifford  was  heard 
bidding  Mr.  Rolls  farewell  at  the  office-door. 


SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVENS  GATE.   211 

"  How  cruel  it  is ! "  cried  Marta,  bitterly.  "  How 
hard  it  is  to  have  to  grieve  him  so  !  " 

The  old  man  came  into  the  room,  looking  pale 
and  dejected  ;  he  sorrowed  deeply  over  the  in- 
iquities of  his  old  friend  Thomas  Hughes.  He 
looked  from  the  vicar  to  Marta  as  he  entered,  with 
a  sudden  fear  of  ill  news. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  asked. 

Marta  could  not  answer.  Tears  welled  up  into 
her  eyes,  and  choked  her  voice. 

"  I  have  a  letter  here  which  I  should  like  you  to 
read,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on 
the  old  man's  shoulder,  as  he  put  the  letter  into 
his  hands. 

He  looked  surprised,  took  the  letter,  and  read 
it  from  beginning  to  end.  His  head  sank  on  his 
breast,  and  a  look  of  misery  crept  over  his  genial 
face.  He  was  wounded  too  deeply  for  speech. 
Aunt  Cathy's  voice  was  heard  in  the  entry. 

"Don't  tell  her,"  he  roused  himself  to  say. 
Then  his  head  fell  again  on  his  breast.  He  was 
a  long  time  buried  in  thought. 

"  Marta,  bring  me  my  boots  and  overcoat,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  And  tell  John  to  bring  old  Jerry 
round  in  the  phaeton." 

"  But,  uncle,  you  must  not  go  out  so  late." 

"Do  as  I  say,"  he  replied,  sternly.  "I  am  go- 
ing to  find  my  boy." 

Mr.  Fordyce  quietly  stepped  in  with  his  arrange- 
ments. He  explained  how  much  more  he,  with 


212  HEAVENS    GATE. 

his  friend,  could  do  than  Mr.  De  Clifford  could 
hope  to  compass  alone.  It  required  much  patient 
persuasion  and  argument  to  induce  one  so  obsti- 
nate to  give  up  his  purpose,  though  they  knew  it 
would  be  death  to  him  to  make  the  attempt. 

"Well,  well!  if  I  must  give  it  up,  I  must,"  he 
said,  angrily.  "  But  tell  my  lad,  sir,  when  you  find 
him,  that  his  father  does  not  blame  him  for  what  he 
did.  Tell  him,  sir,  he  is  more  than  welcome  home." 

Mr.  Fordyce  grasped  the  old  man's  hand,  and 
shook  it  warmly. 

"Such  words  as  those,  dear  friend,"  said  he, 
"  will  do  more  to  bring  your  boy  home  than  any 
arguments  I  could  have  used.  Be  hopeful  and 
trust  me.  I  shall  not  return  without  him." 

A  few  farewell  words  to  Marta,  and  Mr.  For- 
dyce was  gone  on  his  mission.  He  had  no  clew 
to  the  whereabouts  of  the  boy  he  intended  to  find, 
and  could  think  of  no  direct  plan  of  action.  But 
find  him  he  must,  he  would. 

Where  was  William,  —  this  weak  country  lad 
cast  loose  on  the  troubled  waters  of  the  Babylon 
of  England  ? 

He  left  Lord  Clyde's  house  in  an  agony  of  dis- 
tress. His  broken  promises  hitherto  had  never 
caused  him  very  real  trouble,  but  now  he  was 
heart-broken.  He  had  liked  his  position,  had 
found  satisfaction  in  proving  his  intellectual  ability. 
More  than  once  his  valuable  services  as  a  linguist 
had  brought  forth  warm  encomiums  from  his  em- 


SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVEN'S  GATE.   213 

ployer.  His  father  had  given  him  the  best  educa- 
tional advantages,  and  Marta's  gift  for  language 
had  been  an  ever-ready  assistance  to  him.  Wil- 
liam could  have  created  a  fine  position  for  himself 
could  he  have  kept  his  promise  to  his  father  and 
Marta.  Not  knowing  or  caring  whither  he  went, 
he  walked  wildly  on  through  the  busy  streets.  It 
was  afternoon,  the  autumn  sun  struggled  to  pierce 
the  mists  rising  from  the  river.  William  found 
himself  on  Westminster  Bridge,  and  stood  there 
looking  down  into  the  water.  As  he  stood,  the 
Abbey  bells  chimed  the  hour.  Attracted  by  the 
sound  he  crossed  the  bridge  again,  and  joined 
the  throng  of  people  who  were  going  to  the  ser- 
vice. He  entered  the  Abbey  and  took  a  seat,  and 
waited  and  listened,  his  brain  too  benumbed  for 
thought ;  too  miserable  to  try  to  find  relief  by  con- 
fession of  his  fault.  The  organ  played  ;  its  grand 
tones  thrilled  through  the  poor  boy's  heart,  bring- 
ing most  cruel  reproaches  to  him  with  every  thrill. 
The  choir  sang ;  their  voices  blended  in  exquisite 
harmony  ;  —  more  reproaches  to  William,  showing 
him  the  failure  his  life  had  been,  while  he  saw,  as 
in  a  mirror,  the  career  he  might  have  made,  had 
he  had  more  firmness  of  purpose.  He  lost  all 
courage,  all  hope.  He  felt  he  had  no  power  to 
keep  himself  from  falling,  that  he  was  of  no  use, 
never  would  be  of  any  use  in  the  world.  He  saw 
his  own  future  in  its  most  terrible  form,  -  -  a  hope- 
less drunkard.  He  reeled  before  this  mental  vis- 
ion, and  turned  from  it  with  loathing. 


214  HEAVENS    GATE. 

"  Never,  never !  "  he  cried  aloud,  as  he  rose  and 
left  the  Abbey.  The  service  was  over,  and  the 
verger  was  waiting  to  close  the  doors.  William 
had  been  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own  emotions 
to  note  the  progress  of  the  service.  Unfortu- 
nately, a  clear  recollection  of  one  of  Mr.  Graves's 
sermons  on  predestination  came  to  his  mind,  and 
added  despair  to  his  sufferings.  What  if  he  were 
only  going  the  way  God  had  meant  him  to  do  from 
the  beginning?  Was  he  one  predestined  from 
eternity  to  be  damned  ?  His  brain  reeled  at  the 
thought,  and,  as  if  whipped  by  the  scourges  of  in- 
visible fiends,  he  rushed  back  to  the  bridge,  pre- 
pared to  end  the  strife  and  fulfil  his  predestined 
fate,  and  go  at  once  to  the  Devil,  whose  prey  he 
was  obliged,  in  the  course  of  divine  control,  to 
become. 

"What  are  you  about  to  do?"  asked  a  grave 
voice  at  his  side.  William  turned  his  desperate 
eyes  on  the  speaker.  He  saw  a  tall,  vigorous 
man,  whose  eyes  very  keenly  seemed  to  read  his 
soul. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Devil,"  replied  William,  bit- 
terly. "  I  am  tired  of  going  by  slow  degrees.  If 
God  wants  me  to  go,  the  sooner  the  better  for  me." 

"  Strange  blasphemy,"  said  the  stranger  to  him- 
self; "but  the  lad  does  not  mean  it  as  such." 
Then  to  William  :  "  You  are  very  miserable  just 
now ;  confide  your  trouble  to  me.  If  it  can  be 
remedied,  I  shall  help  you ;  and  if  it  cannot,  I 


SHADOWS    DEEPEN    AT    HEAVEN'S    GATE.      215 

think  I  can  show  you  that  a  brave  man  does  not 
fly  from  the  burdens  God  lays  on  him." 

"No,"  said  William;  "but  there  are  burdens  a 
man  lays  on  himself." 

"  The  hardest  to  bear,  I  grant  you.  But  even 
such  burdens,  if  once  assumed,  must  be  borne 
until  such  time  as  God  sends  relief,"  said  the 
stranger.  "Tell  me  your  name." 

"  My  name  is  William,"  said  he,  bitterly.  " Don't 
ask  me  my  surname :  it  is  an  honourable  one, 
and  I  have  disgraced  it.  I  am  the  first  who  has 
borne  it  for  a  century  whose  word  was  worth  noth- 
ing "  —  He  broke  off  with  something  very  like 
a  sob. 

"  Well,  William,  you  must  come  with  me ;  the 
mists  are  rising  from  the  river,  and  it  is  not  well 
for  us  to  remain  longer  here.  My  name  is  Mar- 
cus,—  George  Marcus.  I  am  vicar  of  St.  Giles, 
and  the  brother  and  friend  of  all,  who,  like  your- 
self, are  in  sore  distress." 

"  But  you  don't  know  any  thing  about  me,  and 
I  cannot  tell  you  much,"  objected  William. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  force  your  confidence,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Marcus,  smiling ;  "  but  I  do  want  you  to 
come  with  me.  Is  that  a  violin  you  hold  so  closely 
to  your  heart  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  William,  unconsciously  holding  it 
closer.  "I  forgot  I  had  it  with  me." 

"  Have  you  a  purse  and  watch  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Marcus. 


216  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Yes,"  replied  William,  with  some  surprise. 

"  Then  give  both  to  me.  I  have  an  errand  in 
Seven  Dials,  and  must  take  you  with  me  before  I 
go  home.  No  one  steals  from  me,  and  they  might 
spare  my  friend ;  but  it  is  safer  not  to  put  them  to 
the  test." 

So  saying  he  put  the  articles  in  his  breast- 
pocket, and  strode  along  so  fast  that  William,  ex- 
hausted with  emotion  and  long  fasting,  could  not 
keep  up.  Mr.  Marcus  observed  this,  and  made  a 
sudden  dive  into  a  caft.  Here  he  ordered  coffee 
and  bread.  William  drank  feverishly,  but  could 
not  eat.  His  companion  keenly  noted  his  beau- 
tiful face  and  changing  expression.  Some  one 
must  be  suffering  for  this  boy's  sake,  he  felt  con- 
vinced. As  they  went  out  he  said,  gently,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  — 

"You  have  parents,  sisters,  and  brothers,  have 
you  not  ? " 

"  I  have  a  father  —  and  Marta.  I  promised 
them  "  —  Here  he  choked  and  became  silent. 

"  You  will  one  day  show  them  how  well  you  can 
keep  a  promise,"  said  Mr.  Marcus.  "You  are 
very  young;  you  have  yet  a  work  to  do  in  the 
world." 

"I  have  lost  hope,"  said  William.  "I  am 
twenty-three  years  old,  and  I  cannot  keep  any 
promise  I  make.  I  mean  to,  and  then  all  of  a 
sudden  I  find  I  really  wish  to  break  my  word." 

"  My  dear  boy,  yours  is  no  solitary  experience. 


SHADOWS    DEEPEN    AT    HEAVEN*S    GATE.      217 

The  only  cure  for  your  disease  is  to  give  up  your 
will  to  God,  and  to  work  for,  instead  of  against, 
Him." 

"That  is  what  Marta  says,"  said  William.  "At 
home  she  helps  me.  I  ought  to  have  more  firm- 
ness." 

"  Yes  ;  do  not  pity  yourself  for  weakness,"  said 
Mr.  Marcus.  "  Every  one  who  sins  knows  that,  if 
he  chose,  he  could  do  right.  There  is  no  obliga- 
tion for  a  man  to  sin.  But  now  keep  close  to  me : 
we  are  drawing  near  Seven  Dials." 

A  few  days  later,  a  telegram  reached  Mr.  Mar- 
cus just  as  he  was  taking  his  tea.  He  rose  and 
went  out. 

"  I  have  a  summons  which  will  keep  me  away 
for  a  few  hours ;  amuse  yourself  with  my  book- 
shelves until  my  return,"  said  he  to  William. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  left  him  so 
long  alone  since  their  first  meeting  on  Westmin- 
ster Bridge,  but  Mr.  Marcus  was  not  afraid  to  risk 
doing  so.  He  no  longer  feared  that  William 
would  take  his  own  life.  He  had  spent  the  last 
few  days  in  showing  him  how  much  there  is  in 
the  world  for  a  man  to  do.  It  was  no  longer  nec- 
essary for  Mr.  Marcus  to  take  charge  of  William's 
watch  and  purse :  no  one  in  Seven  Dials  would 
have  permitted  a  hair  of  his  head  to  be  harmed. 
His  voice  and  his  violin  (and,  at  Mr.  Marcus's  sug- 
gestion, he  had  used  both  in  his  visits  to  the  poor) 


218  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

had  won  him  a  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  worst  of 
the  people.  The  stairs  would  be  blocked  with 
listeners  when  William  sang  or  played  to  some 
suffering  creature ;  and  sometimes,  when  the  alleys, 
too,  would  be  crowded,  Mr.  Marcus  would  pause  in 
the  midst  of  the  people  and  ask  his  companion  to 
sing  a  hymn. 

"God  sent  you  your  voice  for  a  divine  work, 
not  to  bury  it  in  the  foul  Thames  water,"  said  the 
vicar,  as  they  left  the  crowd.  "Comfort  your 
heart,  dear  lad ;  you  have  done  some  work  in  God's 
service  to-day." 

Mr.  Marcus  made  no  attempt  to  surprise  Wil- 
liam's confidence.  He  knew  that,  when  the  time 
came,  the  whole  story  would  come  from  him  vol- 
untarily. 

William  began  to  long  to  go  home  to  his  father; 
he  realized  how  great  his  anxiety  would  be.  He 
took  pen  and  paper,  which  most  suggestively 
stood  ready,  and  wrote  a  full  account  of  himself 
and  his  disgrace  to  his  father.  As  he  wrote,  re- 
membrance of  his  father's  goodness  to  him  over- 
came him ;  he  could  hardly  write  for  tears.  He 
did  not  notice  how  swiftly  time  passed  until  the 
door  opened.  Two  gentlemen  entered. 

"  I  have  been  writing  to  my  father,"  said  Wil- 
liam, only  seeing  Mr.  Marcus  as  he  looked  up 
from  the  desk. 

"  William,  my  dear  lad ! "     It  was  Mr.  Fordyce. 

The  telegram  had  been  a  summons  from   Mr. 


SHADOWS  DEEPEN  AT  HEAVEN*S  GATE.   2IQ 

Fordyce,  sent  ere  he  carried  the  ill  news  to 
Heaven's  Gate.  The  old  Oxford  chums  met  at 
Paddington,  and  clasped  hands  with  mutual  delight. 

"You  want  me  for  something  very  urgent," 
said  Mr.  Marcus,  after  a  while. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  had  better  tell  my  story  here,  as  I 
have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  I  want  your  advice 
and  co-operation." 

Mr.  Marcus  heard  the  story  without  any  especial 
signs  of  interest  until  William's  name  occurred; 
then  he  started,  and  became  intensely  interested. 
When  Mr.  Fordyce  mentioned  the  superb  voice 
and  musical  genius  of  the  lost  boy,  his  friend  sud- 
denly darted  forward  and  hailed  a  cab. 

"What  now?"  asked  Mr.  Fordyce,  who  was  ac- 
customed to  his  friend's  sudden  movements. 

"I  want  my  supper,"  answered  he,  smiling. 
"  The  rest  of  your  story  will  wait." 

As  may  be  supposed,  Mr.  Fordyce  was  surprised 
at  the  sudden  break  in  his  recital  of  the  story, 
and  a  little  puzzled  at  his  friend's  high  spirits  and 
gay  speeches.  The  suspense  was  a  short  one, 
however.  In  less  than  an  hour  he  sent  this  mes- 
sage to  the  poor  old  father :  — 

"  William  is  safe  and  well,  and  with  me." 


220  HEAVEN  S   GATE. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE    FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED    FOR   WILLIAM. 

MR.  FORDYCE  sent  William's  letter  that 
night.  He  knew  that  the  spontaneous 
manner  in  which  it  was  written  would  bring  com- 
fort to  the  father's  heart.  When  he  returned  to 
his  friends,  he  found  William  in  a  dejected  atti- 
tude stooping  over  the  fire  ;  but  there  was  no  lack 
of  manliness  in  his  manner  as  he  rose  at  the 
vicar's  entrance. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  what  happened,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  two  men  who  had  befriended  him. 
Then,  without  exaggeration,  or  any  attempt  to 
blame  others  for  his  own  weakness,  he  told  the 
story  of  his  fall. 

"  He  will  make  a  fine  fellow  yet,"  said  Mr.  Mar- 
cus, in  a  hearty  voice.  "  He  will  come  out  of  this 
a  man,  and  will  show  us  all  what  stuff  he  is  made 
of." 

That  was  the  only  comment  these  wise  men 
made  on  the  story.  If  William  had  learnt  noth- 
ing from  this  sad  experience,  he  was  not  likely  to 
do  so  from  any  lectures  they  might  read  him  on 
his  failings.  They  showed  him,  however,  by  their 


THE    FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  221 

manner,  that  they  expected  much  of  him  in  the 
future.  William  came  from  London  a  man ;  his 
boyhood  vanished  from  the  moment  he  awoke  to 
find  himself  the  centre  of  attraction  at  the  the- 
atre. 

He  grew  very  nervous  on  the  journey  home. 
His  sensitive  nature  shrank  from  the  gossip  which 
would  inevitably  seize  and  twist  his  escapade  into 
a  most  exaggerated  form.  He  dreaded,  also,  the 
meeting  with  his  father;  he  felt  that  a  reproach 
from  his  lips  would  cut  him  to  the  core.  He 
winced  with  dread  of  aunt  Cathy's  speeches,  and 
at  the  sad  face  which  Marta  would  wear. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  boy,"  said  the  vicar.  "  Here 
we  are  at  the  station.  See !  there  is  your  father 
in  the  phaeton,  and  Old  John  has  your  horse ;  and 
Miss  Marta  and  the  children  are  on  the  platform." 

Yes,  all  were  there ;  and  the  next  instant  he  was 
in  their  midst  receiving  their  cordial  greetings. 
Old  John  stood  with  the  wrinkles  on  his  face 
widening  into  smiles. 

"  I  brought  your  'oss,  Maister  Willum,"  he 
said,  touching  his  hat.  "And  Miss  Marta,  she's 
ridin'  too." 

William  scarcely  heard  ;  he  was  hurrying  out  of 
the  station  to  speak  to  his  father,  who,  thinking 
it  the  extreme  of  bad  taste  to  show  emotion  be- 
fore strangers,  waited  for  his  son  with  figure  and 
face  in  their  usual  phlegmatic  setting.  Only  God 
knew  how  his  heart  beat  as  he  saw  the  slight  fig- 


222  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

ure  of  his  best  beloved  hurry  out  of  the  station  to 
greet  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  buoy,"  he  cried,  as  William 
grasped  his  hand  and  clung  to  it.  "That's  the 
vicar,  ain't  it  ?  Halloo,  sir !  Will  you  ride  up 
with  us  ? " 

Jennie  and  Olga  climbed  into  the  back  seat, 
snatching  a  kiss  from  William  as  they  stood  on 
the  wheel.  The  vicar  mounted  Marta  on  her 
horse,  then  took  the  seat  beside  Mr.  De  Clifford, 
and  the  happy  party  started  for  Heaven's  Gate. 
Mr.  Fordyce  took  this  opportunity  to  give  a  de- 
tailed account  of  what  had  occurred  in  London. 

"  What  is  the  address  of  that  pa'son  that  was  so 
good  to  my  boy  ? "  asked  the  old  man,  taking  out 
his  pocket-book.  "Write  it  here  for  me,  will 
you?" 

Mr.  Fordyce  complied  ;  and,  in  a  week  or  two 
afterwards,  Mr.  Marcus  wrote  him  that  a  large 
quantity  of  coal  had  been  sent  to  him  for  distri- 
bution to  the  poor.  Besides  this  came  hampers 
of  delicious  country  fare ;  and  seldom  did  a  month 
pass  without  some  sign  of  grateful  remembrance 
from  Mr.  De  Clifford. 

At  Heaven's  Gate  a  royal  tea  awaited  the  party. 
How  sweet  it  was  to  be  at  home  again  !  William 
felt  its  value  keenly  as  he  crossed  the  threshold. 
He  appreciated  to  the  full  the  delicacy  and  true 
loving-kindness  of  his  welcome ;  and,  seeing  that 
his  father  was  distressed  that  he  could  not  show 


THE    FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  223 

more  appetite  for  the  good  things  provided,  he 
pretended  hunger,  and,  by  Marta's  connivance, 
kept  the  dog  at  his  side  ;  and,  between  them,  man- 
aged to  hide  the  fact  that  the  supper  vanished  in 
the  capacious  jaws  of  that  ever-ready  animal. 
Even  aunt  Cathy  was  as  sweet  as  she  knew  how 
to  be.  Her  brother  had  said  a  few  stern  words 
before  he  went  to  meet  William. 

"  He  is  my  boy,  and  I  don't  choose  a  word 
should  be  said  to  him,  except  from  myself.  And 
those  that  don't  like  to  obey  my  orders  have  got 
my  leave  to  quit  the  house." 

"  Oh,  here  you  are  again ! "  was  aunt  Cathy's 
greeting.  "I  thought  you  were  not  gone  for 
long." 

"  Cathy !  "  in  a  growl  from  her  brother. 

"  It's  like  old  times  to  see  you  back  again,"  she 
continued.  "And  you  look  none  the  better  for 
your  gadding  about.  Come  along  in  to  supper." 

She  thought  she  had  been  very  gracious,  and 
could  not  imagine  why  her  brother  glared  at  her 
throughout  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

'  The  days  and  weeks  following  brought  many  a 
bitter  humiliation  to  William,  but  he  bore  all  with- 
out flinching.  He  felt  that  his  father  had  full 
faith  in  him,  needed  and  loved  him.  Every  day 
proved  to  him  how  much  he  might  be  to  his  father. 

The  world  in  general  chose  to  send  William  to 
Coventry.  Some  village  gossip  had  a  forty-ninth 
cousin  who  was  present  that  evening  at  the  the- 


224  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

atre,  and  had  recognized  him  as  he  sang.  The 
story  grew  with  repetition,  and  sins  of  omission  and 
commission  were  piled  on  his  character  until  many 
of  the  middle-class  gentry  cut  him,  and  chose  to 
exclude  him  from  their  parties.  The  conduct  of 
Reginald  had  much  to  do  in  turning  the  tide 
against  his  cousin.  He  treated  him  with  lofty 
contempt,  and  seldom  spoke  of  him  without  a 
sneer.  The  reasons  for  this  cruel  treatment  were 
greatly  founded  on  policy.  Reginald  was  aware 
that  the  refusal  to  give  William  a  place  in  the  col- 
lieries had  created  an  unpleasant  impression  on 
the  generality  of  business  men.  The  only  ground 
to  take  at  this  juncture  was  to  declare  him  un- 
worthy of  a  position  of  trust.  Reginald  had  only 
too  great  cause  to  fear  lest  the  incompetent  Percy 
Rolls  should  be  set  aside,  and  the  place  of  mining- 
engineer  given  to  William.  He  not  only  dreaded 
this,  but  he  dared  not  be  cordial  to  him,  for  fear 
he  should  by  chance  go  down  into  the  colliery  to 
examine  its  condition. 

The  demand  was  great  for  the  fine  coal  which 
that  colliery  yielded.  Reginald  taught  himself  to 
believe  that  it  was  safe  enough,  and  that  William 
was  over-cautious  in  his  opinion  of  the  mine. 
Such  conduct  towards  William,  however,  was  fatal 
to  his  cause  with  Marta.  She  resented  it  as  a 
woman  who  lives  for  others  always  resents  a  slight 
to  one  she  loves.  She  grew  so  cold  in  her  man- 
ner that  Reginald,  receiving  no  welcome  from  her 


THE  FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  225 

lips,  seldom  visited  Heaven's  Gate  except  on  busi- 
ness. 

Very  different  was  the  conduct  of  the  Selwyns, 
who  had  heard  the  whole  story  from  Harry  Clyde, 
and  fairly  annihilated  him  with  their  wrath.  Mr. 
Selwyn  went  out  of  his  way  to  be  kind  to  William ; 
and  Crawford  and  William,  who  had  always  been 
chums,  now  met  oftener  than  ever.  Mr.  Selwyn 
liked  to  have  William's  company  when  he  rode 
over  his  estate.  If  any  one  in  the  world  could 
help  him  to  understand  the  idiosyncracies  of  his 
tenants  it  was  William,  who  seemed  to  divine  all 
that  passed  in  their  slow  Saxon  brains. 

There  was  one  other  whose  gentle  influence  held 
William  as  with  a  magic  spell.  This  was  Lillian 
Selwyn,  who  was  an  enthusiast  in  art  and  music, 
and  not  only  understood  William's  genius,  but 
often  had  power  to  give  it  new  inspirations  and 
aspirations.  The  winter  was  not  wholly  unhappy 
to  William,  even  though  it  brought  so  many  hu- 
miliations in  its  train. 

The  proofs  brought  forward  of  the  villainy  of 
Thomas  Hughes  gave  him  much  sorrow.  He  re- 
membered how  many  times  the  kind  hand  of  this 
man  had  been  outstretched  to  save  him  from  some 
act  of  folly  and  wickedness.  Life  presents  char- 
acters complex  as  that  of  Thomas  Hughes  rarely, 
—  one  part  of  his  being  wrapt  up  in  evil  doings ;  the 
other,  urging  him  to  do  good  and  help  the  weak. 
He  had  ruined  many,  besides  forging  his  partners' 


226  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

i 

names  and  robbing  them  systematically.  Poor 
farmers  had  lent  him  their  little  savings,  thinking 
they  were  safer  with  him  than  in  the  bank ;  but, 
while  betraying  those  whose  trust  in  him  was  so 
great,  he  occupied  much  of  his  time  in  relieving 
the  wants  of  the  poor,  and  trying  to  make  drunk- 
ards sober,  industrious  men.  It  was  difficult  to 
find  any  one,  even  amongst  those  whom  he  had 
injured,  who  would  give  evidence  in  court  against 
him.  His  trial  brought  all  his  villainies  to  the 
light.  The  judge  censured  the  blind  confidence 
with  which  the  firm  had  left  all  business  details  to 
his  management,  telling  them  that  such  laziness 
deserved  punishment ;  for,  were  not  their  signa- 
tures, with  "examined,  and  found  correct,"  to  be 
seen  in  books  which  had  not  been  examined  by 
them  for  years  ? 

Thomas  Hughes  passed  through  the  court  of 
bankruptcy  without  even  a  third-class  certificate  : 
he  returned  to  the  village  a  dishonoured  man  who 
had  barely  escaped  transportation  for  life.  The  vil- 
lagers were  divided  in  their  opinion,  —  the  greater 
part  loving  him  the  better  for  his  troubles,  others 
feeling  that  contempt  for  his  conduct  which  his 
base  betrayal  of  trust  justified. 

Many  of  the  latter  belonged  to  the  Baptist 
Church,  and  urged  upon  Mr.  Graves  the  necessity 
of  turning  this  rascal  out  of  the  church.  The 
poor  little  pastor,  aware  that  he  must  act  with 
firmness,  convened  a  meeting  of  the  members  to 


THE   FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  22/ 

consider  the  case.  About  a  hundred  assembled 
in  the  vestry.  The  little  minister  stood,  his  white 
hair  falling  over  his  poor,  shabby  coat,  and  his 
thin  hands  wiping  tears  away  from  the  spectacles 
through  which  he  vainly  strove  to  see  his  people. 
At  last,  he  gathered  strength  to  state  the  business 
of  the  evening.  Thomas  Hughes  was  present, 
and  started  up  to  speak  in  his  own  defence.  So 
able,  so  wily  was  he,  so  much  did  he  dwell  on  what 
he  had  done  for  the  church  (omitting,  however,  to 
state  that  it  had  been  done  with  stolen  money), 
that,  ere  he  finished,  one  after  another  was  won  to 
his  side.  He  thoroughly  understood  their  illogical 
minds. 

"  Well,  Thomas  Hughes,  he  ain't  done  me  nor 
mine  no  harm,  and  /  don't  see  as  'ow  I've  got 
aught  agin  'im,"  said  one  who  had  been  desirous 
to  turn  him  out. 

"Ay,  he  ain't  took  none  of  my  money,"  from 
another ;  "  and  I'd  trust  him  with  thousands  if  I'd 
got  it.  /baint  a-goin'  to  vote  agin  him." 

The  speeches  of  the  friends  who  rallied  around 
Mr.  Graves  were  in  vain :  the  specious  arguments 
of  Thomas  Hughes  turned  all  they  said  against 
him  to  his  own  advantage  ;  and  in  the  position  he 
gained  of  being  an  ill-used  saint  gained  a  place 
from  which  he  was  never  dislodged  in  the  minds 
of  the  greater  part  of  the  Forest  folk.  But  one 
thing  remained  for  the  sorrowful  pastor,  and  this 
was  to  send  in  his  resignation.  The  indignant 


228  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

people,  rallying  round  their  saint,  accepted  it, 
forgetting  the  long  years  of  arduous  labour  their 
good  little  pastor  had  given  them.  They  owed 
him  a  quarter's  salary  :  it  is  owing  to  this  day  ; 
but  he  to  whom  the  debt  is  due  has  long  since 
laid  his  gentle  heart  at  rest,  and  sleeps  uncon- 
scious of  the  cruel  treatment  which  caused  him 
such  heartache  thirty  years  ago. 

The  friends  of  Mr.  Graves  were  determined  to 
show  their  appreciation  of  his  work  by  raising  a 
testimonial  for  him ;  and,  as  the  story  was  well 
known  even  beyond  the  limits  of  the  West 
County,  liberal  donations  poured  in,  and  a  fund  of 
some  hundreds  of  pounds  was  collected. 

The  committee  of  management  determined  to 
make  the  presentation  of  the  money  a  public  affair, 
and  arranged  a  gigantic  tea-meeting.  An  enor- 
mous tent,  flanked  by  several  smaller  ones,  was 
erected  in  a  field,  and  tables  to  accommodate 
hundreds  were  laid.  A  tea-meeting  is  an  event 
of  importance  in  the  Forest,  —  is,  in  fact,  the 
form  of  dissipation  to  which  Forest  folk  incline 
beyond  any  other.  It  means  more  than  a  tea- 
drinking  ;  it  means  a  jovial  meeting  with  distant 
friends ;  it  means  hearty  good-will,  speeches,  and 
unlimited  tea  and  cake.  The  miners  will  cheer- 
fully pay  their  shilling  for  an  entertainment  so 
much  to  their  taste.  The  cake  is  not  necessarily 
choice,  its  ingredients  being  too  frequently  raisins 
and  treacle,  but  the  Saxon  palate  clings  to  its 


THE    FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  22Q 

traditions,  and  eats  such  cake  with  enjoyment, 
despising  other  kinds  with  the  contempt  of  igno- 
rance. 

This  tea-meeting  was  advertised  by  the  ministers 
of  adjacent  towns  and  villages,  and  friends  came 
in  strong  force  to  show  their  regard  for  Mr.  Graves 
and  his  adherents. 

There  were  the  kindly  Welsh  folk  from  Mon- 
mouth  and  Pontypool,  ready  to  preach,  make 
sermons,  laugh  or  cry,  as  circumstance  demanded. 
Zealous  and  eager  brother  of  Wales,  eloquent, 
kind-hearted,  and  energetic,  but  fickle  as  the  wind, 
give  place  to  the  stolid,  sober-faced  Saxons  that 
throng  down  from  the  Forest.  Here  they  come 
from  the  heart  of  Dean,  terse  in  speech,  weeping 
seldom,  laughing  aloud  even  more  rarely,  ready  to 
pay  their  shilling,  eat  their  cake,  and  absorb  all 
that  happens  into  their  inner  consciousness,  whence 
to-morrow  they  will  bring  forth  their  opinion  of 
the  whole  affair. 

Tea  being  ready  at  four  o'clock,  people  take 
their  seats  in  the  tents.  Marta  is  at  the  head  of 
the  minister's  table,  with  Mr.  Graves  on  her  right 
hand,  and  a  loquacious  Welshman  on  her  left. 
She  is  in  her  element,  accepts  the  compliments  of 
the  Welshman  with  a  gravity  all  her  own,  and 
smiles  in  her  kindly  way  on  her  dear  little  pastor. 
Suddenly  a  sound  is  heard  in  the  distance  as  of 
voices  roaring,  rather  than  singing  a  chorus. 

Reginald  puts  his  head  in  at  the  tent  doors,  and 


23O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

calls  the  visitors  to  come  and  see  the  colliers 
march  down.  On  they  come  six  abreast,  linked 
arm  in  arm,  two  hundred  hearty,  burly  men.  Tom 
Hale,  the  faithful  old  foreman,  marches  in  front 
with  his  heavy  oaken  staff  in  his  hand.  His  voice 
leads  the  roar  that  echoes  for  miles  around,  being 
heard  on  the  Berkeley  shore  across  Severn.  They 
stand  at  the  entrance  to  the  field,  while  they  sing 
their  song  all  through  again,  repeating  the  chorus 
with  keen  enjoyment :  — 

"  For  we  are  the  jovial  Foresters, 

Our  trade  is  getting  coal ; 
You  never  knew  a  Forester 
But  was  a  hearty  soul." 

All  the  visitors  grew  excited  and  joined  in  the 
chorus,  the  effect  being  stupendous ;  and  William, 
standing  on  the  top  of  the  gate-post,  called  out,  — 

"Three  cheers  for  Mr.  Graves." 

Oh !  the  hurrah  that  followed  from  those  Forest 
throats,  doubly  hearty  because  led  by  their  be- 
loved "  Maister  Willum." 

Headed  still  by  the  foreman,  the  colliers  marched 
into  the  field  and  took  their  seats  in  the  tents. 
Tea-drinking  was  then  entered  upon  with  keen 
enjoyment  and  social  zest ;  the  enormous  baskets 
of  cake  were  emptied,  but  the  supply  was  equal 
to  the  demand.  The  Forest  appetite  was  under- 
stood by  the  purveyors,  who  would  have  felt  dis- 
graced had  they  ordered  a  loaf  of  bread  or  cake 
too  little  for  such  an  important  occasion. 


THE    FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  23! 

Mrs.  Rolls,  a  spare,  stingy  little  woman,  was  the 
only  tea-maker  who  intimated  to  the  guests  that 
there  should  be  a  limit  to  the  number  of  cups  of 
tea  taken  at  her  table,  and  she  refused  to  go  be- 
yond eleven  to  each  person.  The  result  was  that 
the  men  went  away  and  took  a  second  tea  at 
another  table  presided  over. by  Forest  folk.  Men 
in  the  habit  of  drinking  a  pint  of  cider  at  a  draught 
are  not  likely  to  have  their  thirst  easily  assuaged 
by  mugs  of  tea.  At  length  the  tea-drinking  was 
over.  The  tents  were  abandoned  for  the  open  air, 
where  a  small  platform  had  been  erected  for  the 
speakers.  The  presentation  was  a  perfect  surprise 
to  the  unworldly  little  pastor,  who  put  on  his  spec- 
tacles, and  examined  the  silver  salver  and  purse  of 
gold  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child.  'His  wife,  who 
stood  by  his  side,  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
quickly  reminded  him  of  his  duty,  and  he  made  a 
speech,  —  true,  simple,  and  quaint  as  himself,  and 
so  full  of  wit  and  spirit  that  the  Forest  folk 
cheered  him  to  the  echo,  led  on  and  most  cordially 
assisted  therein  by  Mr.  Fordyce,  who,  when  silence 
again  obtained,  made  a  fine  speech  in  honour  of 
Mr.  Graves,  showing  by  his  words,  as  he  had  here- 
tofore done  by  his  life,  that  he  identified  himself 
with  the  Christian  churches,  even  though  their 
form  of  worship  differed  from  his  own.  Thomas 
Hughes,  who  watched  all  this  from  afar,  and  heard 
the  ringing  cheers,  felt  bitterly  the  disgraceful 
circumstances  which  kept  him  from  being  prime 


232  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

mover  in  this  affair.  Would  he  ever  regain  his 
popularity  amongst  the  Foresters  ?  Once  they 
had  voted  for  him  instead  of  the  representative 
afterwards  returned  for  Parliament. 

"  I  be  gwain  to  vote  for  Thomas  Hughes,"  they 
doggedly  asserted.  "  I  baint  agwain  to  vote  for 
'vurriners.' " 

Every  thing  beyond  their  ken  was  "foreign." 
The  Severn  bounded  their  world  and  kept  them 
from  "  vurren "  parts.  If  one  travelled  beyond 
Forest  boundaries  he  was  ever  after  looked  upon 
as  a  man  of  great  experience. 

"Thee  let  my  brother  Som  speak  —  thee.  Him 
a  bin  t'  Bristol,"  said  one,  when  a  wise  opinion  was 
required,  and  many  tongues  clamoured  for  a  hear- 
ing. 

To  return  to  the  platform.  There  was  a  call 
for  the  young  "maister,"  and  the  colliers  hoisted 
William  up  over  their  shoulders  to  speak  to  them. 
He  modestly  declined ;  then,  when  they  would  take 
no  refusal,  said  simply  that  he  would  sing  for 
them  instead,  and  gave  them  the  old  English  bal- 
lad (whose  story  he  knew  would  interest  them), 
"  The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of  Islington."  Speeches 
were  again  the  order  of  the  evening  when  the 
tumultuous  applause  showing  appreciation  of  Wil- 
liam's song  was  quieted  down.  Then  the  evening 
hymn  was  sung  by  all,  and,  after  this,  Mr.  Graves 
offered  up  a  short  prayer.  The  foreman  then  ar- 
ranged his  colliers  in  marching  order,  and  placed 


THE    FATTED    CALF    IS    KILLED.  233 

himself  with  his  oaken  staff  again  at  their  head 
and  led  them  homewards,  singing  their  rollicking 
chorus  of  the  "  Jovial  Foresters  "  as  they  marched 
through  the  village  ;  and,  as  they  mounted  the  hills 
beyond,  falling  into  the  dirge-like  refrain  of  a  still 
older  song  found  in  a  cupboard  of  the  Speech 
House  in  Charles  II.'s  time,  and  supposed  then  to 
have  some  political  meaning :  — 

"  Ye  stwons,  ye  stwons,  ye  stwons,  ye  stwons ; 
Ye  stwons  that  built  Garge  Ridler's  oven,"  etc. 

The  grand  tea-meeting  was  over,  its  effect  being 
just  what  was  needed  to  comfort  the  soul  of  the 
faithful  pastor,  and  relieve  the  anxieties  of  his  de- 
voted wife ;  but  the  previous  disaffection  of  the 
congregation  had  struck  home  to  Mrs.  Graves's 
heart.  She  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  the  idea 
that  a  new  pastor  was  to  take  charge  of  the  Bap- 
tist Chapel ;  she  could  not  bear  that  her  husband's 
loving  life's  work  should  be  thus  set  on  one  side. 
She  fell  sick,  and,  ere  any  one  realized  that  she 
was  dangerously  ill,  died.  Yes  ;  she  on  whom  all 
the  comfort  of  husband  and  daughter  depended, 
died,  and  left  them  helpless  as  babes  in  the  world. 
Miss  Graves  gave  up  her  school,  and  devoted  her- 
self to  her  father.  She  took  him  away  to  a  town 
where  she  hoped  to  surround  him  with  fresh  inter- 
ests, but  the  effort  was  vain.  He  lived  out  one 
more  year  of  his  blameless  life,  and  then,  with 
glad  serenity  of  soul,  surrendered  himself  to  his 


234  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

Maker.  During  his  short  illness  he  made  an 
apology  for  giving  trouble  to  those  who  watched 
around  his  bed,  and  passed  away  in  a  calm  sleep, 
without  even  a  sigh  of  pain.  Thus  the  gentle, 
unworldly  little  pastor  never  returned  to  the  scene 
of  his  life's  labours.  Many  a  year  has  sped  since 
Mr.  Graves's  death,  but  his  memory  is  still  revered 
by  those  who  knew  him. 


MART  A   AND    MR.    FORDYCE.  235 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

MARTA    AND    MR.    FORDYCE. 

/"""CHRISTMAS  came,  bringing  its  wintry  cheer, 
v_x  its  spirit  of  peace  and  good-will.  The  family 
at  Heaven's  Gate  passed  the  day  in  a  cheerful  if 
quiet  manner.  Mr.  De  Clifford  might  well  rejoice 
to  think  of  the  many  poor  homes  whose  Christmas 
fire  came  from  his  bountiful  hand.  Even  aunt 
Cathy  took  pleasure  in  counting  the  Christmas 
puddings,  turkeys,  and  geese  she  had  distributed 
for  her  brother  at  this  gala  season.  William's 
happiness  was  enough  to  infect  the  whole  house, 
for  the  Christmas  anthem  he  had  composed  and 
carefully  taught  to  his  choir  had  been  successfully 
performed  at  the  service,  the  solos  being  taken 
by  Marta  and  Olga  (whose  voice  was  a  high  so- 
prano) and  himself.  • .  •; 

Mr.  Fordyce  listened  critically.  He  was  a  fair 
musician,  and  perceived  the  music  to  be  far  above 
the  average.  After  service  he  quietly  abstracted 
a  copy  of  the  anthem  and  sent  it  to  Mr.  Marcus. 
The  country  folk  listened  with  rapture,  and  gath- 
ered round  the  church-door  to  catch  their  young 
"maister"  as  he  passed,  to  beg  him  to  let  them 


236  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

hear  that  music  again  next  Sunday.  Mr.  Fordyce, 
coming  by  at  the  moment,  joined  heartily  in  the 
request,  to  which  William  very  willingly  assented. 
There  was  hardly  standing-room  in  the  church 
that  day.  People  from  all  the  adjacent  villages 
flocked  to  hear  the  anthem. 

A  few  weeks  later,  Mr.  De  Clifford  received  a 
telegram.  William  was  working  in  the  office,  and 
his  father  looked  keenly  at  him  as,  grave  and  si- 
lent, he  appeared  concentrated  on  his  books.  < 

"  My  boy,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

William  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,  father,"  said  he.  "It 
seems  to  me  I  ought  to  be  earning  my  own  living. 
Would  you  object  to  my  making  an  attempt  to  get 
a  situation  ? " 

"All  in  good  time,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Listen 
first  to  me.  I  have  been  in  correspondence  with 
Mr.  Marcus  about  you  lately.  He  thinks,  with 
Fordyce,  that  I  have  no  right  to  prevent  you 
from  following  the  bent  of  your  genius.  Genius, 
lad,"  said  he,  with  a  chuckle,  "that's  the  word 
they  use.  Lord  forgive  me,  if  I  should  do  my 
own  boy  a  wrong  by  my  prejudices.  He  wants 
me  to  send  you  up  to  a  friend  of  his,  —  a  London 
musician,  Moschelles,  they  call  him." 

"  Moschelles,  father  ?  Oh  !  "  cried  William,  fly- 
ing off  his  office-stool,  wild  with  enthusiasm. 

"This  telegram  is  from  Marcus,  bidding  you 
come  up  to  London  by  the  afternoon  train,"  said 


MARTA    AND    MR.    FORDYCE.  237 

Mr.  De  Clifford.  "  He  has  made  an  appointment 
for  you  to-morrow;  and,  if  Moschelles  calls  it 
genius  too,  I  shall  no  longer  stand  in  your  way. 
Only  you  must  be  patient,  boy,  and  wait  here  at 
home  until  these  money  affairs  are  straightened 
out.  I  should  want  you  to  study  with  the  best 
masters,  boy,  and  that  means  money;  but  time 
enough  to  arrange  all  that.  Send  Marta  to  me, 
and  go  and  pack  your  valise." 

William  went  as  far  as  the  door,  then  came  back. 
He  was  alone  with  his  father.  Surely,  for  once, 
he  might  show  his  gratitude  by  something  warmer 
than  a  hand-clasp.  The  old  man  looked  up  and 
smiled  at  him  ;  William  threw  himself  on  his  neck 
in  a  warm  embrace  that  dwelt  long  in  his  father's 
memory. 

"  You'll  be  a  good  lad,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  De 
Clifford,  patting  his  shoulder. 

"  I  will,  father ;  indeed,  I  will,"  cried  William, 
earnestly. 

William  spent  a  week  in  London,  his  beauty, 
genius,  and  charming  manners  making  him  a  fa- 
vourite in  the  circle  of  gifted  men  to  whom  Mos- 
chelles introduced  him.  Mr.  Marcus  wrote  full 
accounts  of  what  he  fermed  William's  "  successes," 
which  he  knew  the  boy  would  be  too  modest  to 
mention,  and  the  father's  heart  would  hunger  to 
hear. 

In  that  one  week  of  intercourse  with  artists, 
William  learned  how  much  drill- work  was  neces- 


238  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

sary  to  develop  even  the  best  natural  gifts.  He 
showed  himself  to  possess  the  true  artistic  spirit 
by  the  zeal  with  which  he  began  the  study  of  weari- 
some technical  work  recommended  to  his  notice  by 
Moschelles. 

"  He,  too,  calls  it  genius,"  said  his  father,  briefly, 
as  he  welcomed  his  son  back  from  London. 

"Did  Mr.  Marcus  tell  you  that  ?•"  said  William, 
colouring  with  delight  as  his  eyes  lovingly  met  his 
father's  proud  gaze. 

"That,  and  a  good  deal  more,-"  said  the  old  man, 
chuckling.  "  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  part 
with  you,  I  suppose,"  he  added,  soberly. 

William  rose  early,  and  worked  with  intense  ap- 
plication, so  that  he  might  be  free  to  assist  his 
father  during  office-hours.  Mr.  De  Clifford  told 
him  such  devotion  was  unnecessary,  as  the  firm 
could  pay  clerks  to  do  the  work.  William  an- 
swered, with  a  pathetic  smile,  — 

"  I've  never  been  of  any  use  to  you  before, 
father ;  and  no  clerk  could  help  you,  I  know,  so 
well  as  I.  Next  year  I  may  be  away  from  you." 

"  Well,  well !  do  as  you  like,"  said  Mr.  De  Clif- 
ford, trying,  by  curtness,  to  conceal  his  pleasure  in 
William's  constant  desire  to  be  at  his  side. 

So  William  worked  with  his  father  during  the 
winter  months.  Reginald  came  sometimes,  and 
showed  cold  displeasure  at  his  cousin's  presence 
during  his  interviews  with  Mr.  De  Clifford,  espe- 
cially as  he  was  called  on  several  times  to  give  his 
opinion  when  the  subject  was  important. 


MARTA    AND    MR.    FORDYCE.  239 

"  I  wish  William  to  be  here,"  said  the  old  man, 
noticing  Reginald's  manner.  "  If  any  thing  should 
happen  to  me,  he  would  represent  the  largest  in- 
fluence in  the  firm.  It's  time  some  of  you  re- 
membered that." 

"  I  sha'n't  trouble  you  long,"  laughed  William. 
"  I  am  to  spend  next  winter  in  the  sunny  South. 
Father  is  going  to  send  me  to  Italy  to  cultivate 
my  voice." 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Reginald,  heartily.  "  I  con- 
gratulate you, — and  myself,"  he  said,  inwardly. 
What  a  fortunate  chance  it  was  that  this  matter 
was  decided.  No  one  would  feel  bound  to  offer 
a  place  in  the  collieries  to  William. 

He  was  so  much  relieved  by  the  tidings  that  he 
came  more  frequently  to  Heaven's  Gate,  and 
would  not  perceive  that  Marta's  cold  manner  was 
intensified  with  his  every  visit.  Marta's  nature 
was  not  a  forgiving  one.  She  could  not,  she  would 
not,  forgive  Reginald  for  the  cold  contempt  with 
which  he  had  treated  William  just  at  the  time 
when  his  weak  nature  required  support  from 
friendly  hands.  How  different  from  Mr.  Fordyce, 
Crawford,  and  the  Selwyns  ! 

"  I've  brought  over  my  'cello  ;  let's  have  one  of 
the  good  old  concerts,"  said  Reginald,  one  day, 
when  he  drove  over  unexpectedly. 

"  How  sorry  I  am  !  "  said  William,  whose  gentle 
nature  was  incapable  of  bearing  malice,  "but  I 
have  an  engagement.  I'm  off  now.  Good  after- 


24O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

noon  ;  come  again,  old  fellow,  and  I'll  show  you 
what  I  have  been  doing  lately." 

Reginald  saw  that  Marta  was  smiling  happily  at 
William's  departure,  so  he  asked,  — 

"  Where  is  he  going  ?  " 

"To  the  park,  of  course,"  she  replied,  cheerfully. 
"Mr.  Selwyn  is  very  fond  of  music.  William  is 
there  nearly  every  day,  and  we  get  up  such  pleas- 
ant musical  parties.  Father  often  drives  over  to 
them ;  it  makes  him  very  happy  to  see  William 
appreciated  as  he  is  by  the  Selwyns." 

Then  she  went  into  the  house ;  and  Reginald, 
left  alone,  paced  angrily  about  the  garden  until  his 
uncle  joined  him  and  asked  him  to  come  into  the 
office  on  business.  He  drove  back  through  the 
Forest,  saying  to  himself  that,  if  Marta  continued 
to  make  herself  so  disagreeable,  he  should  certainly 
cease  caring  for  her.  How  had  she  drifted  so  far 
from  him  ?  It  was,  of  course,  no  consequence  to 
him  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  a  pang  in  the  region  of 
his  heart  contradicted  this  statement.  He  tried  to 
think  of  Margaret  instead,  but  to-night  all  the 
traits  he  disliked  in  her  came  to  his  mind ;  there 
was  much  in  her  manner  he  should  desire  altered 
ere  she  became  his  wife.  The  fear  often  oppressed 
him  that  she  was  holding  him  up  to  ridicule. 

"  Sarcasm  is  a  confounded  bad  habit ;  you  never 
know  what  she  means.  She's  got  to  leave  it  off, 
or  I  shall  show  her  my  opinion  of  it,"  was  his 
mental  comment. 


MARTA    AND    MR.    FORDYCE.  24! 

Soon  afterwards,  in  calling  upon  Miss  Drew,  he 
contrived  —  how,  he  could  never  afterwards  recol- 
lect —  to  make  her  an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand. 
Margaret  was  not  in  a  good  humour ;  and  Regi- 
nald's proposal  wounded  her  pride,  and  made  her 
tongue  cruel  in  its  sarcastic  refusal.  With  a  face 
quite  white,  though  otherwise  unmoved,  she  sat 
and  laughed  at  him  with  her  biting  words.  What 
had  she  meant,  then,  by  giving  him  so  much  en- 
couragement ?  he  was  unfortunate  enough  to  in- 
quire ;  and,  when  she  showed  absolute  surprise  of 
such  interpretation  of  her  conduct,  he  lost  manners 
and  temper,  and  told  her  she  was  a  "  heartless 
flirt."  The  next  moment  found  him  staring  at  the 
place  where  she  had  been ;  for  she  had  risen  at  his 
words,  and,  without  a  glance  at  him,  left  the  room. 
He  waited  for  some  time,  expecting  a  message,  at 
least  ;  none  came,  so  he  went  away  in  high  dud- 
geon. He  avoided  meeting  her  for  some  time;  but 
when  such  avoidance  became  impossible  she  be- 
haved to  him  precisely  as  though  she  had  forgotten 
the  whole  occurrence.  He  was  deeply  mortified 
that  she  evidently  considered  him  of  so  little  im- 
portance ;  his  self-love  was  badly  wounded.  As 
was  natural,  his  heart  turned  with  a  rebound  to 
Marta.  He  made  more  frequent  visits  to  Heaven's 
Gate,  striving  to  win  back  his  place  as  first  in  her 
regard  ;  but  he  saw  that  she  cared  little  whether 
he  came  or  stayed  away. 

One  afternoon  he  found  Mr.  Fordyce  there.     It 


242  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

was  in  the  early  spring ;  the  young  people  had 
been  out  in  the  fields  gathering  cowslips.  Mr. 
Fordyce  was  at  home  at  Heaven's  Gate,  that  was 
certain.  One  particular  place  at  table  was  his  ;  he 
seemed  one  with  the  wishes  and  interests  of  the 
family  circle.  Mr.  De  Clifford  called  him  John  ; 
so  did  William  and  the  children.  Reginald  had 
not  dreamed  of  this  interloper  who  had  become  so 
intimate  with  his  cousins.  He  began  to  wish  he 
had  not  been  so  indifferent  to  what  was  happening 
here  during  the  last  six  months. 

"  Is  he  not  a  splendid  fellow  ? "  cried  William, 
as  Mr.  Fordyce  started  on  his  homeward  walk. 

"  You  seem  to  think  so.  Is  he  often  here  ? " 
growled  Reginald. 

"As  often  as  he  can  come,  I  fancy,"  laughed 
William.  "  Father  is  very  fond  of  him.  We  are 
all  glad  for  Marta's  sake." 

"  Marta ! "  cried  Reginald,  with  a  sudden  sink- 
ing of  the  heart.  "  What  has  she  to  do  with  his 
coming  or  going  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !  Of  course  you  do  not  know. 
They  are  to  be  married  before  I  go  away  to  Italy. 
Is  it  not  jolly  ?  " 

"Jolly!"  cried  Reginald,  with  a  harsh,  grating 
laugh.  He  turned  on  his  heel,  ready  to  eat  his 
heart  out  with  vexation.  Many  a  week  passed  ere 
he  again  appeared  at  Heaven's  Gate. 

One  bright  day  in  June,  Margaret  rode  over  to 
see  Marta. 


MARTA    AND    MR.    FORDYCE.  243 

"The  Selwyns  have  asked  us  to  join  their 
yachting  party,"  said  she;  "and  —  we  are  go- 
ing." 

"I  shall  miss  you,"  was  Marta's  tranquil  answer. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you."  She  paused  irresolute, 
looked  at  Marta,  and  began  pacing  the  room. 
"  Have  you  seen  him  lately,  Marta  ? " 

"He  was  here  to-day,  Margaret." 

"He  was  looking  well,  Marta?  —  say  it.  You 
think  he  was  better, — better?"  She  caught  Mar- 
ta's hands  as  she  spcke,  and  her  eyes  passionately 
demanded  an  affirmative  answer. 

"  Margaret,  dear,  he  is  always  weaker  in  hot 
weather ;  you  must  not  fret  so  much.  I  do  not 
really  think  he  is  worse  than  usual." 

Margaret  threw  herself  on  the  bed  with  a  bitter 
cry. 

"  O  Marta !  he  will  die,  he  will  die ;  and  I  can 
do  nothing  to  save  him.  This  wretched  wealth ! 
Marta,  if  I  were  poor,  I  could  dare  go  to  him  and 
tell  him  I  would  give  my  life  for  his.  I  would 
work  for  him,  but  a  word  of  pity  or  sympathy  from 
me  now,  he  resents  as  an  insult.  Oh,  he  does 
not  love  as  I  love !  I  would  never  let  this  pitiful 
fortune  stand  between  us,  in  his  place." 

"  Poor  Margaret !  "  cried  Marta,  gently.  "  It  is 
best  for  you  to  go  away  for  a  while.  But,  Marga- 
ret, you  must  see  that  there  is  no  other  woman  in 
the  world  to  him  but  you.  Have  hope,  dear ;  all 
will  yet  come  right." 


244  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Hope  !  Marta,  do  you  think  I  should  care  as  I 
do  did  I  not  know  that  the  doctor  says  another 
winter  in  England  will  be  his  last  on  earth  ? " 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  sent  for  Dr.  Symms,  the  specialist, 
you  know,  from  London.  George  managed  it  all 
beautifully.  Dr.  Herly  thought  he  was  an  old  ac- 
quaintance of  ours  paying  us  a  flying  visit,  and 
was  glad  to  meet  him  ;  and  George  and  Dr.  Symms, 
between  them,  turned  the  conversation  on  delicate 
lungs  and  kept  it  there,  ^and,  ere  the  evening  was 
over,  the  examination  was  made.  Marta,  Dr. 
Symms  says  he  might  live  to  be  an  old  man,  if  only 
he  could  be  kept  from  exposure  to  chill,  damp  air, 
and  if  he  could  have  rest  and  winter  abroad." 

"Large  'ifs,'"  said  Marta,  thoughtfully. 

"  Now  you  can  understand  why  I  am  glad  to  go 
away.  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  have  to  live  on  here 
and  know  this,  and  yet  see  no  chance  of  doing 
any  thing  for  him." 

At  this  moment,  William  called  from  the  gar- 
den,— 

"  Marta,  the  Selwyns  want  us  to  meet  them  at 
the  old  park  wall  this  afternoon.  They  are  going 
to  have  tea  at  the  Scowles  to-day." 

"  You  will  stay  and  go  with  us  ?  "  asked  Marta. 

"  Oh,  yes !  any  thing  for  a  distraction ;  but  I 
have  only  my  habit." 

"You  always  look  lovely,"  said  Marta;  "and  the 
Selwyns  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,  that  you 
know." 


MARTA    AND    MR.    FORDYCE.  245 

"  Yes ;  they  are  charming.  Well,  Marta,  I  am 
going  down-stairs  now  to  chat  with  your  uncle, 
who,  by  the  way,  has  more  brains  than  any  of  the 
young  fry  in  the  Forest." 

Margaret's  polite  attention  to  old  people  was 
one  of  the  most  charming  traits  in  her  versatile 
character.  Mr.  De  Clifford  was  soon  drawn  from 
his  office  to  the  garden,  where  Margaret  let  him 
feel  he  was  entertaining  her  with  his  Old  World 
stories.  He  told  Dr.  Herly  next  day  that  Miss 
Drew  was  better  medicine  for  him  than  any  of  the 
doctor's  concoctions. 


246  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE    PICNIC    TO   THE    SCOWLES. 

THE  Scowles,  or  "  Devil's  Chapel,"  lies  hidden 
in  the  dense  woods  at  the  back  of  the  "  Old 
Park  "  boundaries.  Cross  the  moss-grown  stones 
of  the  fallen  wall,  and  enter  the  dream-world  pre- 
cincts of  a  pine  wood.  The  black  soil  is  strewn 
with  pine  needles  and  cones ;  there  is  a  large 
boulder  half  buried  in  the  branching  fronds  of  the 
bracken  fern.  Here  and  there  stand  formidable 
ant-hills,  around  which  horse-ants  keep  guard ; 
over  all  is  the  flash  of  sunlight  which  has  pierced 
the  dense  branches  of  the  pines.  Silence  seems 
to  reign  over  these  solemn  "aisles  of  pines,"  the 
wind  alone  sighing  or  shouting  at  will  amongst  the 
swaying  branches.  A  winding  path  leads  on  to 
the  confines  of  the  wood.  Here  are  light  and 
brightness  again,  —  birds  sing,  rooks  caw,  and 
foxes  in  the  forest  beyond  bark  with  sharp  voices. 
Here,  too,  runs  the  brook,  half  hidden  in  ferns  and 
grasses,  which  passes  on  its  way  with  a  merry 
babble  of  sound. 

The    party   from   the   park   come   one   by   one 
through  the   dark  wood,  and,  emerging   into   the 


THE    PICNIC    TO    THE    SCOWLES.  247 

dazzling  sunshine,  give  a  joyous  "Halloo!"  They 
set  down  their  baskets  of  provisions  on  the  step- 
ping-stones across  the  brook,  and  lean  over  the 
banks  to  drink  the  clear  water.  Crawford  carries 
the  gypsy-kettle  slung  over  his  shoulder ;  Minnie 
reminds  him  that  he  must  fill  it  here.  He  sets 
the  obnoxious  object  in  the  deepest  part  of  the 
brook  with  a  shrug  of  his  huge  shoulders  at  the 
prospect  of  two  miles  more  through  the  bushes, 
and  the  kettle  full  of  water.  Olga  has  her  lap 
full  of  foxgloves,  and  her  shoulders  wreathed  with 
white  briony ;  Jennie  is  trimming  her  hat  with 
ferns  and  harebells ;  Marta  has  given  herself  up 
to  the  pursuit  of  tiny  frogs,  which  she  finds 
amongst  the  tangle  of  water  weeds  in  the  shallows 
of  the  brook ;  Mr.  Selwyn  and  the  vicar  sit  like 
school-boys  on  the  boulder  stones,  throwing  peb- 
bles at  the  elvers  and  stickleback ;  William  wan- 
ders up  and  down,  making  music  with  a  small 
flute,  and  singing  snatches  of  Forest  songs  at  in- 
tervals. 

"  Time  to  start,"  cries  Crawford,  lifting  the  ket- 
tle out  of  the  brook. 

"  Is  it  much  farther? "  asks  Mr.  Selwyn,  ruefully. 

"  Only  a  couple  of  miles  or  so,  and  it  all  lies  in 
the  woods,  so  you  will  not  feel  it,"  answered  Craw- 
ford. 

The  path  being  very  narrow  the  party  breaks  up 
into  little  groups,  which  tend  to  subdivide  again. 
Crawford  and  Marta  find  themselves  at  length 


248  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

alone,  struggling  over  a  rough  bit  of  scrub,  with 
the  kettle  as  a  very  obnoxious  third. 

"This  whole  picnic  is  a  piece  of  folly,"  said  he. 
"  Why  in  the  world  should  we  walk  all  this  way  in 
order  to  have  an  uncomfortable  cup  of  tea  in  the 
woods  ? " 

"  I  like  the  trouble  we  take  for  it  better  than 
the  tea,"  said  Marta.  "  It  is  so  delightful  to  be  in 
the  woods  at  this  season." 

Crawford  and  Marta,  appreciating  each  the  fine 
character  of  the  other,  were  well  pleased  to  be 
companions  for  a  time.  As  both  were  a  little 
phlegmatic,  however,  conversation  soon  failed  be- 
tween them,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence.  The 
rest  of  the  party  was  out  of  sight ;  but  every  now 
and  then  Crawford  gave  a  view  "  Halloo  ! "  which 
was  answered  by  one  or  other  of  the  gentlemen. 

"  Did  you  see  what  became  of  Minnie  ?  "  asked 
Crawford,  at  length. 

"  She  walked  on  ahead  with  Margaret  and  Lord 
Orford,"  said  Marta.  "She  went  to  show  them 
the  way." 

"  But  she  always  blunders  in  these  woods,"  said 
he,  uneasily.  "  There  are  two  ways  to  the  Scowles, 
and  one  leads  through  the  most  dangerous  part  of 
the  place.  The  old  mines  are  so  covered  with 
dead  leaves  that  only  great  care  can  prevent  an 
accident." 

"  Lord  Orford  will  be  careful,  I  am  sure,"  was 
Marta's  attempt  at  consolation.  "  But  for  the 


THE    PICNIC    TO    THE    SCOWLES.  249 

kettle,  we  could  hurry  on  and  catch  them  up  be- 
fore they  reach  the  place  where  the  paths  cross." 

"Well,  I  hope  it  is  all  right,"  said  Crawford, 
gloomily.  "  I  wish  I  had  kept  my  eye  on  Minnie 
instead  of  this  confounded  kettle ;  she  slipped 
away  as  I  was  trying  to  balance  it  on  my  stick." 

Crawford's  fears  were  by  no  means  groundless. 
The  whole  of  that  region  had  been  undermined  by 
the  Romans ;  a  more  dangerous  spot  might  have 
been  sought  in  vain  in  Dean  Forest. 

Minnie,  by  this  time,  was  leading  the  way,  as 
Crawford  surmised,  by  the  wrong  path.  The 
dense  foliage  hid  her  party  from  the  rest,  who  had 
followed  William's  call  of  "turn  to  the  right." 
Margaret  and  Lord  Orford  were  having  a  fencing- 
match  in  words,  and  Minnie  walked  on  alone, 
pretending  to  be  interested  in  the  merry  war,  but 
really  with  fast  beating  heart  trying  to  find  out 
why  she  was  always  so  anxious  now  to  keep  out  of 
Crawford's  way.  Not  that  she  cared  less  for  his 
society  than  she  used  to  do.  Oh,  no !  her  heart 
rebelled  at  the  very  thought ;  only,  when  she  was 
alone  with  him  now,  he  so  often  looked  at  her 
with  eyes  that  brought  to  mind  "  Jumping  Jim's  " 
words  at  the  athletic  sports,  "  Seeing  as  'ow  you 
was  sweethearts,  miss."  How  stupid  it  was  for 
such  silly  words  to  make  such  a  difference  be- 
tween two  such  old  friends !  Minnie  could  not 
understand  it ;  she  resolved  over  and  over  again 
that  she  would  be  just  the  same,  but  Crawford 


250  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

would  not  meet  her  half-way.  Had  she  not  seen 
him  but  yesterday  pick  up  a  faded  rose  she  had 
thrown  from  her  girdle,  and  put  it  to  his  lips ;  yes, 
and  he  must  have  known  that  she  was  looking  at 
him.  Did  she  not  know,  instinctively,  that  her 
neglect  of  him  wounded  him  cruelly.  Had  she 
not  taken  refuge  from  his  eloquent  eyes  in  talking 
more  than  she  had  done  before  to  Lord  Orford  ? 

"Minnie,  my  dear,"  from  Margaret,  "are  we  to 
climb  this  fence  ?  " 

She  started,  and  looked  around ;  the  fence 
bounded  a  ploughed  field. 

"Oh,  never  mind!"  said  Minnie.  "The  Scowles 
are  just  beyond  this  field ;  we  must  cross  it,  you 
know." 

Are  you  sure  this  is  the  right  way?"  asked  Lord 
Orford,  politely,  when  he  had  bungled  for  twenty 
yards  over  the  heavy  clay  soil  which  adhered  to 
his  boots  in  fiendish  clogs. 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  replied.  "  I  can  see  the 
miner's  bridge  over  the  pits  quite  well,  and  you 
know  Crawford  will  come  to  meet  us  the  instant 
he  puts  the  kettle  in  a  safe  place." 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  smiled  Margaret.  "  You 
did  not  tell  him  you  meant  to  bring  us  the  wrong 
way,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Minnie,  carelessly,  "  Crawford  al- 
ways looks  after  people.  I  know  he  will  come." 

Lord  Orford  fervently  wished  he  might,  for  he 
found  himself  in  a  worse  predicament  every  min- 


THE    PICNIC    TO    THE    SCOWLES.  25! 

ute.  To  add  to  his  miseries,  the  sun  blazed  on 
him  and  the  breeze  died  away.  His  face  streamed 
with  perspiration,  and  his  ludicrous  efforts  to  free 
his  feet  of  the  clay  made  his  plight  more  deplora- 
ble. As  for  Minnie  and  Margaret,  experience  had 
taught  them  to  cross  such  soil  at  full  speed,  never 
standing  long  in  one  place.  They  were  soon  rest- 
ing under  a  tree,  trying  not  to  laugh  at  their 
comrade,  and  fanning  themselves  with  their  broad 
shade-hats.  Lord  Orford  soon  fell  at  their  feet  in 
a  prostrate  condition,  laughing  very  heartily  at  his 
own  clumsy  movements.  The  friends  joined  him, 
and  merry  peals  of  laughter  made  the  woods  ring 
with  melody. 

"What  an  echo  there  is  !  "  said  Minnie,  at  length, 
rising. 

Lord  Orford  sat  up,  and,  taking  a  delicate  pen- 
knife, began  to  cut  away  the  clods  of  clay  from 
his  boots. 

"You  can  push  it  off  best  with  a  stick,"  said 
Minnie,  watching  his  futile  efforts  with  amuse- 
ment. "  When  we  walk  over  the  fields  in  spring, 
or  in  the  woods  after  primroses,  the  clay  soil  al- 
ways clings  to  our  boots,  and  we  push  it  off  with 
a  stick." 

When  Lord  Orford  had  failed  with  this  also, 
Minnie  rose,  and  he  saw,  with  dismay,  that  she 
looked  a  little  bewildered  at  the  many  paths  which 
seemed  to  intersect  that  portion  of  the  woods. 

"  I  don't  think  it  matters  much  which  we  take," 


252  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

ehe  said,  presently,  "  as  all  lead  back  to  the  same 
centre." 

Lord  Orford  suggested  that  it  did  make  a 
material  difference  to  him,  if  the  one  to  be  avoided 
ended  in  a  ploughed  field.  They  all  laughed,  but 
he  began  to  feel  a  rising  distaste  for  picnics,  espe- 
cially to  the  Scowles. 

Suddenly  came  a  crashing  sound  in  the  bushes, 
as  of  some  one  speeding  through  the  woods,  mak- 
ing a  path  as  he  went.  Minnie  gave  a  cry  of 
delight. 

"  Crawford  is  coming,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of 
great  relief.  "  I  told  you  he  would  come." 

Minnie's  feeling  of  relief  was  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  that  of  her  companions,  when  the  smil- 
ing face  of  Crawford  appeared  through  the  bushes. 

"Here  you  are!"  cried  he,  beaming.  "You  took 
the  wrong  path,  as  usual,  eh,  Minnie  ?  I  suppose 
you  had  to  cross  the  field.  Hot  work,  Orford  ? " 

"  It  may  appear  so  to  the  on-looker,"  he  replied, 
his  eyes  twinkling  with  amusement.  "  But  it  is  a 
mere  circumstance,  when  you  have  evolved  a  sys- 
tem of  getting  over  the  furrows." 

Taking  advantage  of  Crawford's  long  laugh,  he 
sat  down  again  to  try  and  get  rid  of  more  of  the 
clay. 

"Here,  take  my  jack-knife,  man,"  cried  Craw- 
ford, opening  a  formidable  weapon.  "  One  always 
needs  a  knife  of  this  kind  in  the  country." 

"  I  shall  buy  one  to-morrow,"  said  Lord  Orford, 


THE    PICNIC    TO    THE    SCOWLES.  253 

with  mock  gravity ;  "  that  is,  if  many  more  walks 
are  to  be  taken  under  Miss  Selwyn's  guidance." 

"In  the  mean  time,"  said  Margaret,  "I  move 
that  we  rejoin  our  party.  Which  is  the  path, 
Crawford  ? " 

"This  one,"  he  replied,  pointing  to  one  which 
none  of  them  had  noticed.  "  Follow  us  closely, 
Miss  Drew ;  for,  if  you  tread  carelessly,  you  may 
sink  into  some  of  the  old  pits." 

"  Crawford  to  the  rescue  !  "  cried  Lord  Orford, 
from  the  rear.  "What  a  country  for  steeple- 
chasing  ! " 

"Think  so?"  asked  Crawford,  pausing  to  point 
out  the  old  pits  covered  with  a  treacherous  bed  of 
leaves.  Then  he  took  a  heavy  stone  and  hurled  it 
with  all  his  force ;  it  struck  the  centre  of  the  mass 
and  sank ;  after  a  moment's  breathless  pause 
there  was  a  splash. 

"The  pits  are  half  full  of  water,"  said  Crawford. 
"  You  see  the  need  of  being  careful  how  you  step, 
do  you  not  ?  " 

"Enough  of  experiment,"  cried  Lord  Orford, 
but  speaking  of  mines  reminds  me  to  tell  you  that 
Gwynn  and  St.  John  have  struck  a  good  thing  in 
Arizona,  and  want  you  and  me  to  join  them  this 
autumn." 

"St.  John  wrote  me  by  this  mail,"  said  Craw- 
ford. "I  like  America;  eventually  I  may  settle 
there." 

"Crawford!"  —  a  low,  pained  cry  heard  by  no 
one  else. 


254  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"Take  care,  Minnie,"  he  said,  making  an  excuse 
to  take  her  hand.  Her  fingers  closed  round  his 
with  a  clinging  pressure  that  set  his  heart  beating 
wildly.  How  he  wished  his  companions  at  the 
world's  end  at  that  moment,  that  he  might  be 
alone  with  Minnie. 

Just  then  Mr.  Selwyn  emerged  from  a  side-path. 
A  few  words  acquainted  him  with  the  adventures 
of  the  missing  party ;  and  a  keen  look  at  Minnie's 
eyes,  which  were  suspiciously  hazy,  and  at  Craw- 
ford, who  seemed  to  be  unaware  that  the  safe 
ground  they  stood  on  made  his  assistance  unnec- 
essary to  her,  and  still  clasped  her  hand,  put  him 
in  possession  of  a  fact  which  Margaret's  quick  eye 
had  already  perceived,  that  any  company  was  de 
trap. 

"It  was  fortunate  that  Crawford  met  with  you," 
he  said.  "  Orford,  will  you  run  on  and  tell  Mrs. 
Selwyn  the  ladies  are  safe  ;  and,  Miss  Drew,  if 
you  will  trust  me  as  your  pilot  " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost.  Margaret 
had  already  moved  on  ahead,  and  Lord  Orford  was 
out  of  sight  in  his  zeal  to  obey  Mr.  Selwyn's  re- 
quest. Crawford  and  Minnie  were  left  alone. 

"  Let  us  rest  a  little,"  said  Crawford,  pointing 
to  the  gnarled  roots  of  an  oak. 

"  Crawford,  were  you  in  earnest  ? "  asked  Min- 
nie, raising  her  sweet  eyes  to  his. 

"About  settling  in  America?"  asked  he,  slowly. 
"Yes,  I  mean  it,  Minnie." 


THE    PICNIC    TO    THE    SCOWLES.  255 

"I  thought  you  loved  our  dear  West  County  too 
well  to  leave  it,"  said  Minnie,  with  a  little  sob  in 
her  voice. 

"I  love  it  too  well,  and  —  Minnie.  Look  up, 
sweetheart " 

"O  Crawford!"  cried  she,  as  he  spoke,  "don't 
be  foolish,  please.  It  was  only  poor  Jumping  Jim, 
and  I  thought  you  had  more  sense  than  to  —  than 
to"- 

"  What,  Minnie  ? "  he  asked.  She  looked  up. 
Was  this  Crawford's  face,  so  white  and  stern. 
She  was  half  afraid  that  she  had  vexed  him. 

"  You  know  we  are  cousins,"  she  said,  rather 
lamely.  "  It  is  natural  we  should  care  for  one 
another." 

"  Cousins  in  the  fourth  degree,"  said  Crawford. 
"  I  suppose,  then,  Minnie,  you  will  not  care  too 
much  if  I  go  away,  as  I  shall  do  next  week.  You 
won't  mind  if  I  marry  some  American  girl,  and 
never  come  back  again.  Cousins  don't  care,  you 
know,  very  deeply." 

He  spoke  desperately ;  he  was  determined  to 
learn  his  fate  to-day,  at  this  hour.  Minnie  must 
learn  that  she  had  a  lover  in  her  old  friend,  and 
he  could  see  she  would  not  accept  the  change 
willingly. 

She  sat  quite  still,  her  face  turned  from  him. 
Presently,  however,  he  saw  that  her  tears  were 
falling,  fairly  raining  down  on  her  white  dress. 

"  Shall  you  really  go,  Crawford  ? "  she  whispered, 
with  a  sob. 


256  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  gently 
round  her,  and  drawing  her  to  his  breast.  "  Un- 
less, Minnie  " 

"  I  could  not  bear  you  to  go,"  she  cried,  cling- 
ing to  him  with  both  hands. 

"  But  if  I  stay,"  said  Crawford.  "  Minnie,  what 
Jumping  Jim  said  was  true ;  we  are  lovers.  Sweet- 
heart, tell  me  I  may  stay  and  live  for  you." 

"We  are  behaving  very  badly,"  said  he,  after  a 
long  and  happy  interval.  "  We  are  very  exclusive." 

"Yes,"  said  Minnie.  "How  very  stupid  of  you, 
Crawford,  to  let  me  forget  that  I  promised  to 
show  Lord  Orford  the  stalactite  cavern." 

"  Perhaps  William  will  do  so  ;  Orford  might  pre- 
fer him  as  a  guide,"  suggested  Crawford,  mischiev- 
ously. 

They  strolled  back  to  the  camping-ground, 
which,  however,  was  deserted.  The  fire  was 
nearly  out,  and  the  miserable  kettle  tilting  gradu- 
ally over  the  charred  logs.  Crawford  renewed 
the  fire,  while  Minnie  hastilylaid  the  cloth  under 
the  trees  and  set  out  the  cups  and  saucers. 

Hearing  voices  on  the  other  side  of  the  rocks, 
she  peeped  round,  and  saw  her  sister  Lillian  listen- 
ing as  one  entranced  to  William's  eager  words. 

"  Lillian  !  "  she  cried. 

"The  kettle,"  cried  both,  simultaneously.  "We 
forgot  to  look  after  the  fire." 

They  hastened  to  assist  Minnie  in  her  prepara- 


THE    PICNIC    TO    THE    SCOWLES.  257 

tions,  and  all  was  ready  when  the  other  members 
of  the  party  returned.  The  cave  had  been  exam- 
ined with  interest. 

After  tea  every  one  joined  in  an  exploration  of 
the  region  particularly  set  apart  for  his  satanic 
majesty.  The  pulpit,  formed  by  the  deformed 
growth  of  three  twisted  elms,  was  mounted;  the 
cliffs  were  scaled ;  and  a  long  time  was  given  to 
carving  names,  one  above  another,  on  the  largest 
tree  in  the  chapel. 

At  length  it  was  time  to  return  home.  Minnie 
and  Crawford  were  to  bring  up  the  rear  with  the 
kettle.  Baskets  were  packed ;  and  the  merry 
party,  headed  by  William,  who  sang  as  he  was 
lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  "to  show  them 
the  path,"  he  said,  started  off.  Minnie  made  a 
pretty  picture  as  she  sat  waiting  for  Crawford  in 
the  dusk  of  the  woods,  —  her  sweet  face  upraised  ; 
her  large  hat  slung  on  her  arm  full  of  foxgloves 
and  harebells  ;  her  white  gown  clothing  her  as  an 
angel  in  Crawford's  eyes,  as  he  came  for  her  at 
last,  after  watching  the  last  spark  of  the  fire  die 
out. 

"Are  you  ready,  love?"  said  he,  taking  her 
hands  in  his.  Blissfully  happy,  they  set  out  on 
their  walk  through  the  woods. 

And  the  kettle  ?  It  was  found  by  an  enterpris- 
ing miner  next  day,  not  fifty  yards  from  the 
Scowles.  "I  had  rather  buy  fifty  kettles  than 
carry  this  one  home  to-night,"  Crawford  had  said, 
tossing  it  far  into  the  bushes. 


258  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    VILLAGE   WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH. 

SUMMER  passed  only  too  quickly,  but  the  au- 
tumn months  began  with  floods  of  sunshine 
to  ripen  the  bearded  grain.  Later  on,  however, 
came  some  devastating  storms,  and  after  that 
again  warm,  sunny  days.  It  was  Sunday  morning. 
The  church  bells  were  ringing,  changing  the  chime 
every  five  minutes,  so  that  every  one  could  tell 
when  it  was  time  to  start  across  the  fields  to 
church.  It  is  the  event  of  the  day  for  the  village 
folk,  this  walk  to  church. 

The  first  to  lead  the  way  are  the  two  old  car- 
penters in  their  Sunday  best.  As  they  are  seldom 
seen  outside  their  workshop,  they  are  looked  upon 
as  novelties  on  Sundays.  They  step  on  with  a 
staid  walk,  inherited  from  their  forefathers  as  the 
correct  pace  to  assume  on  such  occasions ;  next 
come  the  farmers,  discoursing  in  loud,  cheery 
voices  about  their  sheep  and  crops  ;  their  daugh- 
ters, decked  out  in  gorgeous  array,  follow  with 
their  rustic  sweethearts ;  engaged  couples  walk 
arm  in  arm,  which  meets  the  village  approval,  and 
occasions  many  cordial,  complimentary  speeches ; 

I 


THE    VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH.       259 

the  old  folk  from  the  almshouses  hobble  along  in 
the  midst  of  the  crowd.  They  have  little  sense  of 
religion,  and  cannot  be  taught  that  they  are  sin- 
ners ;  but  they  feel  more  "  comfortable  like  "  for  a 
nap  in  church,  and  believe  that  the  act  of  attend- 
ance at  divine  service  will  be  certain  to  score  well 
for  them  "aloft."  Every  now  and  then  they  may 
be  heard  ejaculating  a  very  hearty  "dom  my  old 
bones,"  as  rheumatic  twinges  remind  them  of 
their  lost  youth.  Every  cottage  sends  forth  some 
member  to  add  to  the  crowd  which  wends  its  way 
to  the  church-yard  gates. 

The  silver  peal  ceases ;  only  the  calling-bell  is 
heard.  The  De  Cliffords,  with  Sid  and  Emma, 
are  seen  driving  down  the  lane.  Reginald  and 
William  have  walked  across  the  fields,  and  are 
already  in  the  organ  gallery. 

Who  shall  describe  the  peacefulness  of  that  au- 
tumn morning ;  the  quaintness  of  that  village 
gathering ;  the  glint  of  the  sun  in  the  cornfields  ; 
the  ripple  of  the  brook ;  the  song  of  the  lark  in 
the  meadows  by  Severn  ? 

Every  one  has  entered  the  church  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  almshouse  poor,  who  seat  them- 
selves in  the  sunny  porch,  and  every  now  and 
again  straggle  into  the  gravel  path  to  discover  the 
cause  of  some  unwonted  sound  in  the  village. 

The  church-door  stands  open ;  the  air  blows  in 
fresh  and  free,  amber  tinted  till  it  strikes  the 
coloured  windows,  when  it  is  merged  in  glorious 

I 


260  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

hues  that  fall  upon  the  aisles  and  creep  around 
the  Norman  pillars  in  the  nave.  The  sunlight 
gilds  the  font,  and  touches  the  hair  of  the  school- 
children, who  put  out  their  hands  with  idle  wish 
to  catch  the  sunbeams. 

Mr.  De  Clifford  resigned  himself  to  the  neces- 
sity of  attending  church  when  the  complications 
first  arose  which  made  Mr.  Graves  send  in  his 
resignation.  He  did  so,  however,  under  protest, 
as  it  were,  and  in  direct  opposition  to  aunt  Cathy, 
who  assailed  his  ears  with  treatises  against  popery, 
and  recommended  a  home  service  at  which  she 
would  read  her  favourite  discourses.  Mr.  De  Clif- 
ford, perhaps,  was  not  sorry  to  give  William  free 
license  to  bestow  all  his  time  on  the  music  of  a 
church  which  gave  him  scope  for  the  use  of  his 
powers.  He  enjoyed  hearing  his  boy  play  the 
organ,  and  was  proud,  though  he  carefully  con- 
cealed his  pride,  that  musicians  from  all  the  coun- 
try round  thought  it  worth  their  while  to  come  to 
hear  him,  and  rang  the  praises  of  his  modesty  and 
genius.  His  behaviour  in  church  caused  Mr.  For- 
dyce  many  a  smile  of  amusement.  He  read  the 
responses  as  loud  as  the  clerk,  and  much  slower, 
and  said  "  Amen "  in  such  a  distinct  voice  that, 
had  any  one  but  Mr.  De  Clifford  dared  so  much, 
the  clerk  would  have  laid  a  complaint  against  the 
offender.  When  the  "  Creed  "  was  read  he  main- 
tained an  erect  attitude  and  stern  silence,  looking 
upon  turning  to  the  East  and  bowing  as  devices 

* 


THE    VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH.       26l 

of  Satan,  —  relics  of  past  Catholicism.  The  creed 
of  St.  Athanasius  roused  him  to  wrath  ;  he  would 
take  up  hat  and  stick  and  leave  the  church  if  it 
were  read.  He  liked  Mr.  Fordyce's  sermons  with 
reservations  ;  and,  having  a  logical  brain  and  such 
a  knowledge  of  Scripture  as  few  young  men  could 
compete  with,  very  often  worsted  the  vicar  in 
argument,  becoming  a  more  determined  Baptist 
every  time.  Except  for  a  few  peculiarities,  his 
behaviour  in  church  was  marked  with  great  deco- 
rum ;  but  he  was  determined  all  others  should  be 
equally  decorous.  Unhappy  the  Sunday  scholar 
who  fought  or  played  tricks  during  service.  Mr. 
De  Clifford  would  leave  his  seat,  cross  the  church, 
seize  the  offender  by  the  ear,  and  make  him  walk 
beside  him  to  his  seat.  He  then  made  the  un- 
fortunate one  stand  in  the  aisle  until  such  time  as 
was  supposed  sufficient  to  expiate  the  offence. 
He  then  pretended  not  to  notice  him  as  he  wrig- 
gled his  wretched  body  towards  the  free  seats, 
where  he  might  subside  into  temporary  oblivion. 
He  liked  to  see  a  row  of  boys  fall  asleep  in 
church,  —  the  first  with  his  head  against  the  wall, 
the  next  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  the  first,  and 
so  on  to  the  end  of  the  row.  He  was  satisfied 
thea  that  none  of  them  were  playing  with  mar- 
bles, bits  of  string,  or  otherwise  breaking  the  Sab- 
bath, and  he  could  listen  to  the  sermon  in  peace. 
For  himself,  he  took  much  license,  knowing  that 
no  one  would  dream  of  criticising  his  behaviour. 


262  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

If  he  spoke  at  all,  it  was  aloud,  despising  a  whisper 
as  unworthy  of  a  man's  dignity.  His  comments 
on  the  behaviour  of  his  children  were  always  made 
in  an  audible  voice,  which  caused,  them  many  a 
throb  of  anguish  as  they  encountered  the  amused 
eyes  of  the  congregation. 

The  sight  of  the  Reeces  on  their  way  to 
Heaven's  Gate  on  Sundays  was  enough  to  fill  the 
church,  for  they  always  joined  William  in  the 
choir,  and  added  pure  contralto  in  Milly  and  Dick, 
and  a  fine  bass  in  Reginald ;  while  Marta  and  Olga 
sang  high  soprano,  and  William,  leaving  the  organ, 
would  join  in  with  his  exquisite  tenor.  The  vil- 
lagers for  miles  around  would  hurry  to  the  church, 
and  sometimes  there  was  hardly  standing-room,  so 
much  was  the  perfect  choir  appreciated. 

"They  can  zing,  can't  "urn,"  was  the  comment 
of  the  country  folk.  A  long  string  of  complimen- 
tary phrases  could  not  mean  more  to  them. 

Reginald,  who  was  apt  with  his  pencil,  drew 
many  a  caricature  of  the  village  folk,  whose  faces, 
sometimes  grotesquely  ugly,  were  turned  upward 
in  keen  enjoyment  of  the  music ;  or,  failing  such 
interest,  would  watch  the  flames  of  sunlight  on  the 
coloured  windows  drift  througji  to  the  chancel  in 
superb  hues  of  purple  and  crimson,  while  the  ex- 
aggerated outlines  of  the  Cherubim  blowing  their 
trumpets  danced  in  the  flickering  shadows. 

On  this  sweet  September  morning,  however, 
Reginald  saw  neither  faces  nor  Cherubim ;  he  took 


THE    VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH.       263 

his  part  in  the  singing  mechanically  for  his  mind 
was  preoccupied.  He  had  come  to  Heaven's  Gate 
to-day  to  make  a  request  of  which  he  was  deeply 
ashamed.  William,  whose  nature  was  too  forgiv- 
ing to  bear  malice,  had  given  him  a  cordial  wel- 
come on  his  arrival ;  but  Marta  had  been  cold  and 
distant,  and  his  uncle  looked  at  him  with  an  un- 
friendly eye.  He  had  hoped  to  find  fitting  oppor- 
tunity to  make  his  request  as  he  walked  to  church 
with  William  over  the  fields,  but  somehow  it  had 
seemed  out  of  place  to  begin  on  business  topics 
while  the  church  bells  were  ringing.  A  feeling  of 
envy  filled  his  soul  as  he  watched  William  at  the 
organ  this  morning ;  he  looked  radiant  with  hap- 
piness, and  more  than  once  Reginald  saw  his 
uncle  turn  slowly  round  to  look  up  proudly  at  his 
boy,  who  met  the  glance  with  a  quick,  loving 
smile.  William  had  grown  in  manliness  during 
the  past  year ;  he  had  now  a  definite  aim  in  life, 
and  every  hope  of  success.  Reginald,  disappointed 
in  every  thing  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart,  now 
beheld  with  envy  one  who  was  beginning  to  gain 
the  realization  of  his  heart's  desires.  He  was  a 
man  of  clear  perceptions  ;  he  saw  no  longer  the 
boy  in  William  who  might  be  kept  down  by  his 
adverse  opinion.  The  more  clear  his  perception 
of  this  fact,  the  more  difficult  became  the  task 
which  he  had  set  for  himself. 

Dr.  Herly  joined  Mr.  De  Clifford  during  service. 
He  was  looking  remarkably  well;  but  the  villagers 


264  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

all  thought  him  a  doomed  man,  and  often  told  him 
so  by  their  pitying  glances  as  he  went  amongst 
them. 

After  service,  while  William  was  practising  with 
the  choir,  Marta  slipped  away  to  pay  her  usual 
Sunday  visit  to  a  wicked  old  man,  who  lived  alone 
down  the  village  lane. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  the  old  cracked  voice,  as 
Marta  stood  on  the  threshold.  "  Yes,  I  be  glad  to 
see  you,  you  b'aint  an  old  witch.  Come  in." 

"I  have  come  to  read  to  you,"  said  Marta, 
cheerfully.  "  You  like  to  hear  me,  do  you  not  ? 
I  will  read  again  about  the  New  Jerusalem." 

Only  Marta  dared  to  hint  at  religion  to  old 
Billy.  He  was  an  unimaginative  old  man,  who 
often  said  "as  how  he  liked  devils  better  nor 
angels."  In  fact,  he  could  gain  some  conception 
of  the  one  and  none  of  the  other,  until  Marta 
came,  and  tried  to  lift  his  poor  mind  to  higher 
flights.  Being  very  selfish,  he  would  not  permit 
any  neighbour  to  listen  while  she  read,  swearing 
forcibly  if  one  but  peeped  into  the  room.  He 
proved  his  gratitude  to  Marta  by  making  huge 
bottles  of  "yarb"  (herb)  tea,  which  he  presented 
to  her  with  solemnity  as  specifics  against  every 
disease  under  the  sun.  Mr.  Fordyce  laughed  to- 
day as  he  met  Marta  returning  from  her  visit 
laden  with  two  bottles. 

"Billy  is  on  the  watch,"  said  Marta.  "  Oh,  dear! 
these  dreadful  bottles !  " 


THE    VILLAGE   WORTHIES    GO   TO    CHURCH.       265 

"  Wait  till  we  turn  the  corner,  and  I  will  bury 
them  in  the  beds  of  nettles,"  said  he,  laughing  as 
he  took  them  from  her  arms. 

This  was  done ;  but  hedges  have  eyes  and  ears 
in  the  West  County,  and  some  believing  hodge 
dug  the  bottles  up,  and  thankfully  drank  the 
"yarb"  tea. 

The  phaeton  had  already  driven  on  with  Mr.  De 
Clifford,  Dr.  Herly,  and  the  children  ;  the  rest  of 
the  party  walked  home.  Reginald  almost  fever- 
ishly kept  the  conversation  to  the  subject  of 
church  music,  on  which  he  had  many  very  original 
ideas.  It  tried  him  more  than  he  would  acknowl- 
edge to  see  the  perfect  understanding  between 
Marta  and  the  vicar;  there  was  no  outward  mani- 
festation of  affection,  but  it  was  discernible  to  his 
quick  eye  throughout  that  walk.  He  was  thank- 
ful when  the  upper  windows  of  Heaven's  Gate 
appeared  above  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Dinner  went 
off  cheerfully  enough.  Mr.  De  Clifford  was  never 
happier  than  when  entertaining  his  friends ;  and 
Dr.  Herly  and  "John"  kept  the  conversation  at 
its  brightest. 

After  dinner  the  party  strolled  out  into  the  gar- 
den, even  daring  to  sit  down  a  while  on  the  rustic 
benches. 

"First  of  October  to-morrow,"  cried  Dick,  "and 
my  birthday." 

There  was  a  laugh  of  amusement,  during  which 
Dick  vanished  with  the  children. 


266  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"You  look  gloomy,  Reginald,"  said  aunt  Cathy, 
as  he  walked  past  her  alone,  his  forehead  wrinkled, 
his  shoulders  shrugged  up  to  his  ears. 

Reginald  laughed  and  made  light  of  his  humour, 
but  aunt  Cathy  was  not  to  be  shaken  off. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  something  wrong  at  the 
colleries,  —  not  that  I  approve  of  worldly  talk  of  a 
Sunday,  but  if  there  is  any  thing  wrong,  you'd 
better  out  with  it,  and  not  look  as  if  the  heavens 
and  earth  were  coming  together." 

Reginald  laughed  more  naturally  ;  and  just  then 
William  came  up  and  linked  his  arm  in  his  cousin's. 

"  It's  long  since  we  have  had  such  an  opportu- 
nity," said  he.  "Come  and  let  us  have  some 
music." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Reginald,  uneasily.  "  But, 
—  in  fact,  I  came  over  on  a  matter  of  business  to- 
day." 

"  Father,  come  here  a  moment,"  cried  William. 
"  Reginald  has  something  to  tell  us.  If  it  is  bad 
news,"  he  said,  softly,  "  break  it  as  gently  as  you 
can,  old  fellow." 

"  Is  any  thing  wrong  at  the  collieries  ? "  asked 
Mr.  De  Clifford,  from  his  group. 

"Every  thing,"  replied  Reginald,  gloomily. 
"The  men  have  struck." 

"  Our  men  on  strike?"  cried  William.  "They 
never  did  such  a  thing  before." 

"  Do  they  want  more  wages  ? "  asked  Marta, 
who  saw  something  behind  Reginald's  gloom  which 
made  it  more  intense. 


THE   VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO   TO    CHURCH.      26/ 

"  No ;  they  refuse  to  work  at  all.  The  fools 
vow  the  level  is  unsafe, — the  best  vein  of  coal  we 
have  struck  yet.  I  took  the  gaveller  down  the 
day  before  yesterday,  and  he  says  it  is  as  safe  as 
many  more  he  knows  that  are  being  worked.  The 
men  heard  him  say  it,  l)ut  they  struck,  neverthe- 
less." 

"  They  wouldn't  believe  the  gaveller,  if  he  swore 
till  he  was  black  in  the  face,  because  he  is  a  '  vur- 
riner,' "  laughed  William.  "Well,  I  dare  say  they 
know  more  about  it  than  he  does.  You  see,  Wye 
has  risen  this  year  earlier  than  usual,  owing  to 
those  terrific  storms  we  had  a  little  while  ago ; 
the  brooks  are  flooded  from  the  Welsh  hills.  De- 
pend on  it,  Reginald,  the  men  are  right." 

"  I  tell  you,  Will,  I  went  down  myself,  and  I 
saw  the  gaveller  make  a  careful  examination.  But 
the  men  turned  on  me,  and  asked  'if  the  young 
"maister"  (you,  Will)  said  it  was  safe.'  I  said, 
'  Would  you  go  to  work  if  he  tells  you  it  is  safe  ? ' 
'  Ay,'  they  replied  ;  '  if  "  Maister  Willum  "  said  as 
'ow  'twas  safe,  they  wouldn't  be  afeard  no  longer.' 
They  trust  you  blindly,  Will ;  they  would  believe 
your  word  against  mine  and  a  dozen  gavellers." 

Reginald  spoke  with  irritation  in  his  voice. 
Marta  linked  her  arm  proudly  in  William's. 

"And  their  vicar  and  doctor  to  boot,"  cried  Mr. 
Fordyce,  laughing.  "William,  my  boy,  how  do 
you  bear  such  honours  ?  " 

William  was  looking  thoughtfully  over  the  com- 
mon ;  he  appeared  not  to  hear  the  remark. 


268  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  I  told  you  before,  Reginald,  I  did  not  like  that 
colliery.  How  can  I  help  you  now  ?  "  he  said,  at 
last,  very  gravely. 

"  I  came  over  to  ask  you  if  you  will  come  up  to 
the  collieries  to-morrow  and  reassure  the  men," 
said  Reginald,  hurriedly. 

"  That  will  be  of  no  use,"  said  William,  abruptly. 
"  I  told  you,  at  the  first,  it  would  be  a  risk  of  life 
to  work  that  level." 

"  But  a  whole  year  has  passed  without  any  thing 
happening,"  said  Reginald.  "  If  you  can  tell  me 
the  level  is  as  safe  as  it  was  then,  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied ;  so  will  the  men." 

"  To  do  that  I  must  go  down  and  make  an  ex- 
amination," said  William,  looking  gravely  at  his 
father. 

"That  is  just  what  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to 
do,"  said  his  cousin. 

Silence  fell  on  the  party.  The  request  was  a 
most  unwarrantable  one,  considering  the  treat- 
ment which  William  had  received  from  the  man- 
aging firm  at  the  collieries.  Reginald,  looking 
from  face  to  face,  realized  at  once  how  such  a  re- 
quest from  him  was  regarded.  Mr.  Fordyce  had 
all  he  could  do  to  keep  down  the  force  of  his  mus- 
cular Christianity,  which  demanded  physical  satis- 
faction ;  therefore  he  did  not  throw  himself  into 
the  breach,  as  every  one  expected  him  to  do.  Dr. 
Herly  looked  his  contempt  for  the  speaker,  but 
kept  his  sarcasm  for  his  private  ear.  The  slowest 


THE    VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH.       269 

"brain  present,  however,  was  the  first  to  find  voice ; 
and  Mr.  De  Clifford,  with  a  relapse  to  the  forcible 
utterances  of  an  ungodly  youth,  exclaimed,  — 

"  I'll  be  damned  if  he  shall !  " 

"Why  should  William  risk  his  life?"  asked 
Marta,  with  tears  of  indignation  rising  to  her  eyes. 
"You  have  always  said  he  was  too  unsteady  to 
entrust  with  human  lives,  yet  now  you  come  to 
ask  him  to  reassure  your  men.  You  have  shut 
him  out  from  the  management ;  yet  now,  at  this 
crisis,  come  to  him  you  have  injured  to  beg  him 
to  take  the  whole  responsibility  of  those  men's 
lives  on  his  shoulders.  You  are  mean,  mean  !  " 

"I  agree  with  Marta,"  said  Mr.  De  Clifford's 
steady  voice.  "  You  have  treated  my  boy  badly, 
sir,  and  you  will  find  he  is  not  at  your  beck  and 
call.  He  has  a  fine  career  before  him,  indepen- 
dent of  those  damned  collieries.  His  own  genius 
and  industry,  sir,  have  given  him  a  place  amongst 
men  of  mark  in  the  world.  You  can  go  back  to 
the  collieries,  and  tell  the  men  they  can  do  as  they 
damn  please ;  but  my  boy  is  not  going  down  into 
that  blasted  old  pit  for  any  of  them." 

No  one  had  ever  seen  Mr.  De  Clifford  in  such  a 
towering  rage  before.  But  there  were  more  than 
the  vicar  in  the  group  who  followed  his  words,  and 
found  their  expressiveness  a  relief. 

William  stepped  across  and  took  his  father's 
hand. 

"Don't    be    angry,   father,"    he    said,   gravely. 


2/O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Don't  you  see  that  it  was  very  hard  for  Reginald 
to  have  to  come  and  ask  me  ?  He  could  not  help 
himself." 

"  Thank  you,  William ;  you  are  a  fine  fellow," 
said  Reginald,  eagerly.  "  Uncle,  I  apologize  with 
all  my  heart  for  any  slight  I  may  have  seemed  to 
pay  him.  I  made  a  mistake,  and  I  am  sorry. 
Whether  he  goes  down  the  colliery  or  not,  I  say 
the  same  thing.  If  I  had  to  live  over  the  same 
time  again,  I  would  do  very  differently,  that's  all 
I  have  to  say." 

"And  more  than  enough,"  said  William,  gayly, 
.shaking  hands  heartily  with  his  cousin.  He  looked 
round  at  the  company  generally,  expecting  them 
to  follow  his  example,  but  Mr.  De  Clifford  and 
Marta  were  not  so  placable.  Neither  found  it  easy 
to  forgive,  and  far  harder  to  forget ;  and  the  old 
man  turned  round  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
and  went  into  the  house.  Marta  followed,  in  full 
sympathy  with  his  mood.  Of  the  two  men  left, 
neither  seemed  anxious  to  make  the  first  advances. 

"  You  see  the  position,"  continued  Reginald  to 
William.  "  The  men  will  not  do  another  stroke  of 
work." 

"  Try  them  again,"  said  Dr.  Herly,  with  a  little 
sarcastic  tone  in  his  voice.  "  Offer  to  go  down, 
and  stay  down  with  them.  That  is  the  way  to 
win  their  confidence." 

"  I  have  offered  to  do  so,"  admitted  Reginald, 
reluctantly.  "  I  have  done  all  in  my  power  to 


THE    VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH.       2/1 

induce  them  to  go  on,  so  has  the  gaveller;  but 
they  all,  from  the  foreman  down,  swear  by  Wil- 
liam. They  are  as  obstinate  as  mules ;  yet  they 
believe  the  simplest  thing  he  says,  and  would  fol- 
low him  to  the  Devil." 

"So  they  may,"  said  William,  merrily.  "I 
never  told  them  a  lie  yet." 

"  Still,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  John,  laying  a  lov- 
ing arm  round  William's  shoulders,  "you  try  to 
put  too  heavy  a  responsibility  on  these  young 
shoulders,  when  you  ask  him  to  lead  so  many 
minds  by  his  single  word." 

"Ah!  but  you  forget,"  cried  Reginald,  hastily. 
"  You  have  no  idea  what  a  genius  he  has  for  min- 
ing engineering.  He  was  educated  for  it,  and  had 
an  apprenticeship  in  the  Northumberland  mines. 
Uncle  always  intended  him  " 

He  stopped,  and  coloured  crimson.  Whose  fault 
was  it  that  William  had  been  kept  out  of  his  right- 
ful place  ?  Mr.  Fordyce  had  no  mercy ;  he  looked 
steadily  at  him,  requiring  him  to  finish  his  sen- 
tence. 

"You  were  saying,  your  uncle  intended  "him  "  — 

Reginald  turned  on  his  heel ;  William  came  to 
his  relief. 

"I'll  come  up  to-morrow,  Regi,"  said  he,  gravely; 
"that  is,  if  father  consents.  You  send  word  to 
the  men  that  I'll  be  there.  Wait  a  while,  I  will  go 
and  talk  father  over." 

He  ran  off  down  the  garden.    Dr.  Herly  touched 


2/2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

the  vicar  on  the  shoulder,  and  they  strolled  off 
together,  leaving  Reginald  alone.  He  felt  their 
evident  contempt  most  bitterly.  At  last,  William 
came  out  again. 

"  Don't  go  into  the  smoking-room,  Regi,"  he 
said,  softly.  "  He's  in  an  awful  wax  still ;  but  he 
says  I  may  go,  if  I  will  promise  not  to  do  so  again." 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Will,"  said  Reginald, 
with  emotion. 

The  two  gentlemen,  strolling  down  the  garden 
path,  heard  the  conversation. 

"Should  /be  in  your  way,  William?"  asked  Dr. 
Herly.  "  I  learnt  a  great  deal  about  the  under- 
ground world  the  time  I  accompanied  you  before, 
and  I  should  like  to  revisit  the  mine  with  you." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  company,  though  I  am 
sure  you  are  better  off  above  ground  with  that 
delicate  chest  of  yours,"  said  William,  cordially. 
"  Are  you  coming,  Reginald  ? " 

"  No  ;  I  was  down  yesterday.  The  men  will  be 
better  pleased  if  I  stay  away,"  he  muttered,  bitterly. 

"  Well,  since  that  matter  is  decided,"  said  John, 
"let  us  have  some  music,  William." 

"  Let  us  try  something  new,"  cried  Reginald, 
eagerly.  "  Bring  me  uncle's  'cello,  and  call  Dick ; 
you  play  first  violin,  Will." 

They  found  Marta  in  the  drawing-room ;  the 
doctor  and  vicar  sat  beside  her  in  the  low,  broad 
window-seat,  and  sat  looking  out  over  the  dark 
woods  and  the  silvery  gleaming  Severn  to  the  lov 


THE    VILLAGE    WORTHIES    GO    TO    CHURCH.       2/3 

blue  ridge  of  the  Cotswold.  William,  inspired  by 
sympathy,  played  as  he  had  never  done  before, 
and  his  cousins  accompanied  him  with  exquisite 
discernment.  The  deep  vibrations  of  the  'cello 
filled  the  air,  sending  its  thrills  right  out  to  mingle 
with  the  murmur  of  the  pines.  Very  soon  Mr.  De 
Clifford  appeared ;  the  music  proved  too  much 
even  for  his  ill-humour.  He  sat  quietly  listening, 
gathering  to  his  soul  with  pride  all  the  encomiums 
uttered  by  those  present  on  the  masterly  compo- 
sitions of  his  son.  It  was,  after  all,  a  happy  hour, 
—  one  never  forgotten  by  those  who  participated 
in  its  pleasures. 

"  You  have  made  great  strides  during  the  last 
year,"  said  Reginald,  whose  musical  opinion  was 
of  value. 

"  If  I  could  once  hear  these  pieces  performed 
by  a  first-class  orchestra,  I  think  I  could  be  con- 
tent to  die  of  happiness,"  said  William,  tears 
shining  in  his  beautiful  eyes.  "  It  would  be  the 
realization  of  heaven  to  me." 

"  Some  day,  I  expect  to  hear  an  oratorio,  com- 
posed by  you,  performed  in  Gloucester  Cathedral," 
said  Reginald,  cordially.  "  Fordyce  and  I  will  be 
ushers,  and  thus  get  good  opportunities  of  hearing 
the  encomiums  on  your  work." 

"  Pending  that  time,  William  and  I  must  be  off 
for  evening  service,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce. 

"Tea  is  ready,"  said  aunt  Cathy,  hoarsely.  "I 
am  not  one  to  believe  in  your  High  Church  fast- 


2/4  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

ings.  A  decent  meal  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man's 
temper." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  which  did  much  to 
restore  pleasant  relations.  Mr.  Fordyce  remarked, 
with  much  amusement,  "that  he  imagined  even 
aunt  Cathy  could  not  blind  herself  as  to  the 
healthy  nature  of  his  appetite." 

Mr.  De  Clifford  joined  the  party  at  the  tea-table, 
but  his  brow  was  still  clouded.  He  said  little,  and, 
when  Reginald  came  to  wish  him  "good-night," 
gave  him  a  very  gruff  response,  and  no  offer  of  his 
hand. 


THE    YACHTING    PARTY.  2/5 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE   YACHTING   PARTY. 

THE  heavy  storgis  had  driven  the  yachting 
party  to  a  harbour  on  the  rugged  coast  of 
Wales. 

"  It  is  too  late  in  the  season  to  start  again,"  was 
Crawford's  verdict.  "The  equinoctial  gales  will 
be  on  us  and  play  the  mischief  with  the  yacht." 

This  was  to  Mr.  Selwyn,  who  was  so  fond  of 
yachting  as  to  be  rash  in  running  into  danger,  not 
knowing  how  to  be  afraid  of  a  rough  sea.  Mrs. 
Selwyn  was  delighted  with  the  scenery  and  the 
quaint  fishing-village  where  they  had  been  forced 
to  take  refuge,  and  suggested  that  the  party  might 
remain  for  a  week  or  so  before  taking  the  train 
home. 

The  yachting  party  had  been  a  great  success. 

"  If  only  William  and  Marta  could  have  been 
with  us,  it  would  have  been  perfect,"  said  Mrs. 
Selwyn,  smiling  on  the  happy  young  people. 

"  I  like  William  the  better  for  refusing  the  invi- 
tation," said  Crawford,  sturdily.  "He  wanted  to 
come  very  much,  and,  knowing  this,  uncle  Selwyn 
went  at  once  to  ask  Mr.  De  Clifford  to  give  him 


276  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

his  permission.  You  know  how  stiff  the  old 
man  is  when  he  is  trying  not  to  show  any  feeling. 
'Certainly,  William  has  my  permission  to  join 
you/  said  he,  his  face  impassive  as  a  piece  of 
stone.  Just  then,  we  heard  William's  voice  in  the 
hall ;  he  was  singing  in  the  gayest  manner." 

Crawford  paused,  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
talking  so  much. 

"  Oh,  go  on  !  "  cried  Minnie.  "  How  stupid  of 
you,  Crawford,  to  stop  just  when  we  are  so  much 
interested ! " 

"  There  is  not  much  more  to  tell,"  said  he,  smil- 
ing. "  Uncle  Selwyn  told  him  our  plans,  and  that 
we  wanted  him  to  join  us.  He  just  gave  one 
look  at  his  father,  who  showed  no  sign  of  feeling 
one  way  or  the  other,  then  he  laughed  in  his  gay 
manner. 

" '  Don't  think  you  will  rid  yourself  of  me, 
father,  by  sending  me  to  sea.  I  prefer  an  office 
stool." 

"'Rubbish!'  growled  Mr.  De  Clifford.  'You 
are  as  fond  of  a  yacht  as  Crawford,  and  as  good  a 
sailor.' 

" '  When  I  can  sail  on  dry  land,'  he  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  He  followed  us  when  we  left  the  office,  and 
told  us  he  found  himself  now  able  to  spare  his 
father  much  business  worry,  and  could  not  bear  to 
leave  him. 

" '  I    am   going   away   soon   to    Italy,'  he   said. 


THE    YACHTING  PARTY. 

'  I've  never  been  any  comfort  to  my  father  before, 
and  now  I  can  see  he  begins  to  depend  on  me  so 
much  that  I  feel  sometimes  I  ought  to  give  up  my 
desire  to  study  music.' 

"  We  could  not  say  any  thing  more,  of  course, 
and  he  went  back  to  his  father  whistling  as  gay  as 
a  lark." 

"I  am  afraid  he  works  too  hard,"  said  Margaret. 
"Dr.  Herly  told  me  that  office-life  does  not  suit 
him,  and  he  is  in  the  office  every  moment  that  his 
father  is  there." 

"Besides  that,  he  is  composing  a  symphony," 
said  Lillian.  "  He  sent  .me  the  score  to  look  over 
to-day.  It  is  splendid ;  I  long  to  hear  it  per- 
formed." 

"  Some  day  we  shall  be  proud  of  the  genius  of 
our  West  County  lad,"  said  Mr.  Selwyn,  reflec- 
tively. "  His  modest  yet  charming  manners,  too, 
will  make  him  a  society  lion  only  too  easily." 

"Father  and  William  are  great  cronies,"  said 
Minnie.  "  They  ride  the  same  hobbies.  If  only 
father  had  a  voice  as  well  as  an  ear  for  music  " 

"  Perhaps  he  would  go  to  Italy  to  study," 
laughed  Lillian. 

"  Saucy  children  !  Well,  I  miss  the  lad's  bright 
face,  but  his  poor  father  would  have  missed  it 
more,  so  enough  of  that  for  one  day,"  said  Mr. 
Selwyn,  who  had  experienced  deep  disappointment 
to  find  his  favourite  could  not  be  one  of  the  yacht- 
ing party. 


278  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

The  rugged  cliffs  rose  several  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  beyond  their  scarped  heights 
lay  a  ridge  of  mountains.  This  wild  Welsh  coast 
gave  an  impetus  to  the  artistic  of  the  party. 
Minnie  sketched  and  painted  for  hours  daily ;  Lil- 
lian wrote  poems,  which  she  sent  to  William  to 
set  to  music ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Selwyn  gave  assist- 
ance to  both,  as  they  needed  it ;  Margaret,  poor 
Margaret !  with  her  restless  heart  making  such 
quiet  pursuits  an  agony  to  her,  tried  to  still  its 
cravings,  to  dull  its  aching,  by  perpetual  change 
of  scene.  Leaving  the  party  absorbed  in  artistic 
pursuits,  she  would  climb  the  cliffs,  and  walk  over 
the  headlands  with  swift  yet  objectless  step.  She 
never  knew  how  far  she  went,  nor  what  views  she 
had  seen  ;  her  whole  time  was  swallowed  up  in 
battles  with  herself,  —  battles  in  which  every  as- 
sault was  directed  at  her  heart,  in  which  she  gave 
herself  no  quarter,  and  strove  by  contempt  for 
her  weakness  to  bury  her  misery  from  sight. 
Over  and  over  again  would  recur  all  the  details  of 
her  last  interview  with  Dr.  Herly.  She  met  him 
riding  in  the  rain  some  miles  from  home. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Herly !  You  ought  not  to  be  out  to- 
day." 

"A  doctor  knows  no  ought  but  duty,"  he  had 
replied,  coughing  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  throw  your  life  away,"  she  cried,  bitterly. 

"  Not  so.  I  must  do  my  work.  Margie,  would 
you  counsel  me  to  neglect  of  duty  ? " 


THE    YACHTING    PARTY.  279 

"You  know  I  would  not,  if  you  were  able,"  she 
began  ;  then  tears  of  misery,  which  she  would  not 
shed,  choked  her  voice  and  made  it  less  tender 
when  she  spoke  again.  "  It  is  a  long  time  since 
we  have  seen  you." 

"You  have  been  well  amused,  I  know." 

The  tone  was  one  which  brought  all  her  pride 
to  the  surface ;  nothing  hurt  her  so  much  as  want 
of  faith.  Dr.  Herly  often  conveyed  the  idea  to 
her  that  he  considered  her  life  so  full  of  interests 
that  she  had  no  need  of  his  friendship.  He 
meant  nothing  of  the  kind ;  in  truth  he  racked 
his  brains  to  find  some  excuse  for  refusing  to  give 
way  to  the  temptation  (growing  stronger  as  he 
became  physically  weaker)  to  sun  himself  in  Mar- 
garet's presence.  The  more  he  needed  her  the 
more  distant  he  strove  to  place  her  from  himself. 
He  magnified  all  the  obstacles  in  his  path,  —  his 
health,  his  poverty,  her  riches,  and  the  many  fine, 
wealthy  men  who  were  ever  at  her  beck  and  call ; 
yet  he  knew  that  true-heartedness  had  always 
been  Margaret's  characteristic,  and  wilfully  mis- 
judged her  in  thinking  she  could  place  elsewhere 
the  love  which  at  times  he  had  felt  to  be  his. 

Margaret  had  left  the  Forest  feeling  she  should 
become  mad  in  her  misery  at  seeing  the  man  she 
loved  dying  by  inches,  when  her  care  and  riches 
might  have  saved  him.  Yet  she  had  no  sooner 
come  away  than  she  regretted  the  act,  and  was 
now  only  seeking  legitimate  excuse  to  leave  the 


280  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

party  and  rush  homeward.  The  decision  to  leave 
the  yacht  and  return  by  rail  had  been  accepted  by 
her  with  delight. 

She  had  been  conscious  throughout  the  summer 
of  a  kindly  watchfulness  exercised  over  her  by 
Crawford.  Now,  as  she  returned  from  her  long 
walks,  she  often  met  him  more  than  half-way  to- 
wards her.  Few  people  credited  the  quiet  Craw- 
ford with  penetration,  but  Minnie  knew  that 
nothing  escaped  his  watchful  eye.  He  had  known 
for  months  how  matters  stood  between  Margaret 
and  Dr.  Herly,  and  had  often  turned  plans  over  in 
his  mind  for  making  the  way  smooth  for  them. 
He  now  read  Margaret's  mental  suffering  in  her 
restless  movements.  He  was  never  deceived  by 
her  gayety ;  and  his  manner  said  often,  "  If  you 
want  a  friend,  depend  on  me."  She  grew  to  de- 
pend on  him,  as  Minnie  saw  with  delight. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  does  me  good,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Oh  !  there  is  no  one  like  Crawford,"  Minnie 
replied,  smiling.  "  His  repose  of  mind  and  man- 
ner are  so  restful." 

Margaret  agreed  to  this. 

One  afternoon  the  party  sat  on  the  beach  at 
sundown ;  the  sun  set  stormily ;  its  lurid  redness 
tinged  the  sands,  and,  dying,  left  its  light  upon 
the  mountain-tops.  A  wind  rose,  the  sea-pinks 
quivered,  the  sand  was  blown  into  little  rifts,  the 
rock-pools  rippled,  and  the  ebbing  tide  carried  the 
wider  ripples  out  to  sea. 


THE    YACHTING    PARTY.  2Sl 

"Some  great  storm-spirit  seems  to  pervade  the 
universe,"  said  Minnie,  shivering  with  dread. 

"The  sky  looks  stormy,"  said  Crawford,  rising, 
and  walking  to  and  fro,  with  an  anxious  look  at 
the  fishing-boats  which  were  making  for  shore  at 
full  speed.  A  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  on  the  hard 
sand  made  him  turn  suddenly.  A  man,  waving  a 
paper  in  his  hand,  was  galloping  towards  him. 
Crawford  ran  to  meet  him. 

"  It's  a  telegram  for  Mr.  Selwyn,"  said  the  man. 
"  It's  got  bad  news  in  it ;  you'd  better  break  it 
gently  like  to  him." 

Crawford  carried  it  slowly  towards  his  uncle, 
but  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  news  it  contained  ; 
then,  placing  it  in  Mr.  Selwyn's  hands,  he  went  to 
the  spot  where  Margaret  sat  alone,  and  broke  the 
news  to  her.  She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that 
saw  nothing,  then  out  to  the  lurid  sea,  — blood-red 
it  seemed  to  her ;  then  she  laughed.  The  laugh 
was  terrible,  almost  insane. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  cried  Minnie,  coming  near. 
"  Margaret,  what  hurts  you  so  ?  Tell  us,  that  we 
may  help  you  to  bear  it." 

Margaret  looked  at  them  with  despair  in  her 
eyes. 

"  When  is  there  a  train  to  the  West  County  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  Not  before  ten  o'clock  to-morrow." 

"  O  my  God  !  How  shall  I  bear  to  wait  ? "  she 
cried ;  then,  suddenly  turning,  she  sped  away  up 


282  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

the  well-worn  cliff-path,  up  and  up.  A  small 
mountain  beyond  the  cliffs  appeared  the  goal  of 
her  steps,  and  she  climbed  ceaselessly.  Impossi- 
ble at  this  moment  was  inaction  ;  but  at  length  it 
was  forced  upon  her,  for  she  gained  the  summit, 
and,  bracing  herself  against  the  rocks,  stood  breath- 
less, —  waiting.  Something  in  the  lull  which  pre- 
cedes hurricane  stirred  her  pulses  with  eager  ex- 
pectancy. Seawards  the  lurid  light  was  dying  in 
the  gathering  gloom  ;  the  massive  granite  moun- 
tain-peaks cast  aside  their  veil  of  light  and  showed 
their  grimness.  The  coming  storm  sent  out  har- 
bingers :  up  rose  an  eagle  and  circled  in  the  air,  — 
a  dark,  ominous  creature,  screaming  as  it  flapped 
its  heavy  wings ;  gannets  and  sea-gulls  darted  shore- 
wards  ;  the  little  brown  mosses  lay  still ;  but  the 
heather-bells,  from  out  the  rocky  crevices,  showed 
wan,  fair  faces,  and  bent  their  fragile  stalks  at 
every  rising  breath  of  wind  ;  little  tufts  of  fern 
beat  their  dainty  fronds  against  the  rock,  and, 
bruised  and  broken,  lay  waiting  the  stride  of  the 
storm-spirit.  A  sigh  from  the  wind  that  swept  the 
clouds  in  the  upper  air  passed  earthwards,  seemed 
to  linger  as  it  touched  the  mountain-peaks,  and 
died  or  fell  to  rest  in  some  abyss,  some  ravine 
cloven  by  a  giant  hand,  or,  passing  onward,  left 
a  monotone  of  wailing  in  the  rifts.  It  was  an  in- 
tense moment.  There  is  nothing  more  awful  to 
contemplate  than  the  working  of  a  great  power 
which  appears  to  wreak  its  will  without  the  guid- 


THE    YACHTING    PARTY.  283 

ance  of  intelligence.  Up  from  north  and  west 
rose  clouds,  dark,  ominously  black.  They  rose  to 
mid-heaven  and  lay  piled  in  mountain  heights  on 
the  horizon.  The  grey  hue  of  the  ocean  deep- 
ened into  the  black  of  the  clouds.  The  gloom  was 
oppressive.  Then  came  a  hush,  —  clouds  and 
ocean  waited,  —  then  a  rustle  amid  the  dry  fern 
on  the  hill-side.  Never  is  more  conservation  of 
force  required  at  such  a  crisis  than  when  one 
waits.  Margaret  stood  breathless,  —  some  great 
force  was  drawing  nigh.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
One  must  be  near,  of  whom,  if  she  made  appeal, 
she  might  expect  a  hearing.  She  uttered  a  loud 
cry  of  agony. 

"  God  !  "  she  cried.  "  Do  you  know  the  burden 
which  is  laid  on  me  to-night  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  nothing  but  the  hush,  — 
this  waiting  of  Nature  for  the  coming  storm. 
Then  the  clouds  on  the  horizon  sent  forth  a  sul- 
len, broken  sound  which  echoed  in  the  mountains. 

"Only  a  fiend  would  torment  a  suffering  soul 
like  this,"  cried  Margaret,  in  her  madness.  "  Have 
pity,  Lord ! " 

"  Have  pity ! "  rang  the  echoes.  The  rocky 
caverns  caught  the  words  and  laughed  them  to 
scorn  amongst  the  echoing  hills ;  the  eagle,  hear- 
ing, soared  still  higher,  with  a  louder  scream. 
The  hush  of  the  silent  hour  was  broken.  The 
foot  of  the  storm-spirit  trod  the  ocean,  and,  with 
one  long  stride,  broke  loose  the  winds  that  lingered 


284  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

on  the  horizon.  He  touched  the  black  clouds  until 
they  flashed  defiance,  and  sent  his  clarion  tones  to 
rouse  the  echoes  in  the  mountain  gorges.  His 
stride  was  followed  by  the  winds  in  hurricane,  by 
waves  that  rose  to  mountain  heights.  Voiceless 
the  granite  peaks  of  the  everlasting  hills  held  their 
grim  heads  above  the  storm.  The  storm-spirit, 
however  mighty,  was  but  short-lived ;  the  ever- 
lasting hills  could  wait. 

Peals  of  thunder  reverberated  above,  around, 
and  rent  the  air  with  awful  crashes  of  sound  ; 
lightning  broke  the  heavy  clouds  with  a  touch  of 
flame ;  lurid  rifts  parted  the  mountain  heights  on 
the  horizon ;  the  roll  of  thunder  clouds  was  an- 
swered by  the  waves  as  they  broke  furiously  on 
the  rocky  coast  ;  rain  fell,  and  hail.  Margaret 
was  drenched,  bewildered,  almost  blinded  by  the 
fury  of  the  tempest,  yet  stood  there  on  the  moun- 
tain-top, conscious  of  a  relief  from  pain  in  thus 
watching  the  fury  of  the  storm. 

"  Come  home,  Margaret,"  said  a  kind  yet  stern 
voice  at  her  side.  "  You  are  selfish  to  risk  your 
life  when  all  your  strength  is  required  by  those 
you  love." 

"I  cannot  bear  the  waiting,"  she  gasped.  "No; 
do  not  cover  me,  I  like  the  storm.  Go  ;  I  am 
better  alone." 

"  You  know  I  shall  not  leave  you,"  said  Craw- 
ford. "  I  came  to  find  you,  and  to  tell  you  I  have 
ordered  a  special  train,  which  will  be  ready  by 


THE    YACHTING    PARTY.  285 

twelve  to-night;  we  shall  reach  home  by  day- 
light." 

"  O  Crawford !  "  cried  she,  seizing  his  hand,  and 
pressing  it  passionately.  "  How  good  of  you ! 
Let  us  go." 

"  I  am  as  anxious  to  return  as  you  are,"  he  said. 
"  I  know  I  can  be  of  use,  I  am  so  strong." 

Margaret  set  out  down  the  mountain-side  as 
wildly  as  she  had  climbed.  A  dangerous  task  by 
daylight,  its  difficulties  were  intensified  by  the 
darkness,  and  the  descent  was  a  precarious  one. 
Crawford  insisted  she  should  regulate  her  speed 
by  his  own  cautious  step. 

"  If  you  are  to  be  of  any  use,"  he  said,  bluntly, 
"govern  yourself.  You  can,  you  will,  do  this,  I 
know,  when  you  are  on  the  spot ;  but  now,  while 
you  can  do  nothing  else,  try  and  get  strong  for  the 
time  your  strength  is  needed.  Don't  think  I  am 
not  impatient  too.  I  envy  that  old  eagle  his 
wings." 

Thus  quieting  her  as  he  went,  he  brought  her 
safely  to  the  hotel.  Both  were  wet  through,  but 
there  was  time  to  resume  dry  clothing  before  the 
train  started. 

"You  must  try  and  sleep,  you  know,"  said 
Crawford,  in  his  kindly  way,  as  he  arranged  a 
comfortable  seat  for  Margaret ;  "  it  will  pass  the 
time,  and  make  you  more  able  to  work  to-morrow." 

Margaret  lay  quiet  in  her  corner ;  her  white  face 
was  still  as  death.  Sleep  !  Could  Crawford  have 


286  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

seen  the  chaos  of  thoughts  in  her  brain,  he  would 
have  been  hopeless  of  the  possibility  that  she  could 
sleep. 

Lillian  Selwyn  looked  like  one  in  a  hideous 
nightmare. 

"It  cannot  be  true,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  It  is 
an  exaggeration;  I  will  not  believe  it." 

"  It  is  a  bad  business,  I  fear,  Crawford,"  said 
Mr.  Selwyn,  as  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the  rain, 
waiting  for  the  train  to  start. 

Crawford  did  not  reply  ;  he  had  little  hope. 


WILLIAM    AND    DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.       28/ 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

WILLIAM  AND  DR.  HERLY  IN  THE  MINE. 

THE  mist  of  the  October  morning  was  scarcely 
dispersed  by  the  bright  sunshine,  as  William, 
with  Dr.  Herly,  drove  up  to  the  Swale  colliery. 
The  men  who  stood  in  sullen  groups  at  the  pit's 
mouth  raised  a  cheer  for  William  as  he  appeared  ; 
the  next  instant  he  was  in  their  midst,  chatting 
with  one  and  another,  listening  with  attention  to 
their  brief  remarks ;  then,  turning  from  them  to 
the  old  foreman,  who,  bluff  and  hearty,  stood  well 
in  front  of  his  men,  he  put  some  questions  to  him. 
Dr.  Herly  watched  his  manner  of  dealing  with 
these  rough  colliers  with  interest ;  he  thought  it 
was  easy  to  understand  why  the  young  "  maister  " 
was  so  much  beloved  by  them.  Presently,  Wil- 
liam broke  away  from  the  detaining  hand  of  the 
foreman,  and  came  up  to  the  phaeton,  carelessly 
swinging  his  hat  in  his  hand.  The  light  wind 
stirred  the  waves  of  hair  on  his  temples,  laying 
bare  the  broad,  white  brow.  Dr.  Herly  was  struck 
with  the  beauty  of  his  countenance  anew. 

"Doctor,"  he  said  gravely,  "the  report  of  the 
foreman  of  the  condition  of  things  below  is  worse 


288  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

than  I  imagined.  You  know  he  never  exaggerates 
any  thing.  You  had  better  not  come  down  with 
me  to-day." 

"  Why  do  you  risk  the  descent  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  thing  happening 
during  the  few  hours  I  shall  be  down  there,"  he 
replied.  "  Some  of  the  men,  the  foreman  says, 
are  fools  enough  to  go  on  working,  at  any  risk,  for 
the  double  wages  Reginald  has  offered.  Now,  if 
my  report  is  unfavourable,  not  a  man  will  be 
allowed  to  pass  the  shaft." 

"Well,  if  there  is  no  danger  to  you,  there  is 
certainly  none  for  me,"  said  Dr.  Herly,  smiling. 
"  I  know  I  shall  never  have  so  good  an  opportu- 
nity again  for  learning  something  of  the  coal 
formation  of  the  Forest." 

"  If  you  really  wish  to  come,"  said  William, 
gravely;  "but  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  take  any 
risk." 

"  If  you  risk  nothing,  /  risk  nothing,"  said  Dr. 
Herly,  gayly,  as  he  sprang  from  the  phaeton. 
"  Who  else  is  going  ?  " 

"All  the  men  want  to  go,"  said  the  foreman, 
advancing.  "They  think  they  will  be  safe  with 
the  young  '  maister,'  but  he  won't  take  more  than 
half  a  dozen  besides  myself." 

"Why  should  I?"  laughed  William,  pushing 
aside  man  after  man,  who  came  up,  begging  to  be 
one  of  those  chosen  for  the  expedition. 

"Listen,  mates,"  said   he.     "I'll   be  up  in  an 


WILLIAM    AND    DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.       289 

hour,  or  so,  and  take  the  whole  lot  of  you  down,  if 
all  is  well  in  the  pit.  You  wait  about  here." 

Then,  mounting  a  block  of  coal,  surrounded  by 
the  colliers,  whose  surly,  stolid  faces  wore  a  sun- 
shine of  smiles,  he  began  talking  to  them  in  the 
dialect,  sending  his  chaffing,  cheery  words  into 
their  midst,  laughing  at  and  with  them,  bringing 
one  and  all  into  perfect  good  humour. 

"The  cage  is  ready,  maister,"  said  the  foreman. 

"All  right  then!  Here  thee,  Billy  Kear,  give 
me  a  hond  off  this  'um  yeer  stwon." 

Half-a-dozen  arms  seized  and  lifted  him  to  the 
ground,  and,  with  a  merry  laugh,  William  went  up 
to  the  cage.  The  mouth  of  the  pit  yawned  dark 
and  gloomy,  and  the  cage  creaked  dismally.  The 
foreman  carefully  assisted  Dr.  Herly  to  get  in, 
and  then  the  men  took  their  places.  William,  last 
of  all,  with  one  long  look  at  the  bright  Forest 
world,  jumped  into  his  place,  and  bade  the  men 
cheerily  "lower  away." 

The  descent  in  the  cage  in  the  Forest  pits  was 
not  achieved  with  the  evenness  of  modern  appli- 
ances. The  sensation  caused  by  the  movement 
was  akin  to  sea-sickness,  the  mental  emotion  al- 
most weird.  The  shaft  was  narrow ;  the  clay  walls 
streamed  with  water  ;  the  slight  board,  which  stood 
between  you  and  the  yawning  depth  below,  shiv- 
ered and  bent  under  your  feet.  No  relief  was 
gained  by  an  upward  look ;  for  every  moment 
made  the  pit's  mouth  more  distant  until,  at  length, 
it  was  but  a  speck  of  light. 


2QO  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

The  cage  has  touched  the  bottom  ;  spring  out 
and  peer  into  the  darkness ;  stand  aside,  for  a 
ghostly  footfall  comes  upon  the  ear ;  some  horses 
pass  with  slow,  solemn  march ;  heavy  trams  roll 
behind.  They  disappear  in  turn,  then  a  candle, 
moulded  in  clay,  is  thrust  into  your  hand,  —  you 
are  considered  equipped  for  the  lower  world ;  its 
phantom  glories  are  for  your  vision. 

Return  to  the  exploring  party,  who  have  just 
left  the  cage.  Each  man  has  a  candle  and  box  of 
matches,  his  bag  of  "tommy,"  or  lunch,  and  a  can 
of  cider.  Dr.  Herly  walks  close  behind  the  fore- 
man, who  often  lays  his  kindly  arm  round  his 
shoulders  to  screen  him  from  some  unseen  danger. 
William  uses  his  eyes  with  all  his  might.  The 
foreman,  by  request,  lights  a  torch  and  holds  it  on 
high ;  it  lights  a  few  yards  of  the  vaulted  roof, 
but  there  is  a  beyond  and  beyond  in  that  world  of 
gloom  which  the  eye  cannot  reach.  Dr.  Herly, 
who  is  an  ardent  collector,  exclaims  at  the  delicate 
perfection  of  the  fossil  ferns  on  that  black  ceiling. 

"  Can  you  get  me  some  of  those  ferns  ? "  he 
asked  Billy  Kear. 

"Them  viurns?  No,  maister!  The 'ole 'ont  'ud 
come  down  atop  on  us.  I  baint  quite  such  a  vool." 

"I  have  some  fine  specimens  I'll  give  you,  doc- 
tor," said  the  foreman.  "We  daren't  touch  these." 

They  came  now  to  a  door  which  opened  into 
another  level.  Usually  the  little  door-boys  sit  all 
day  long  in  seats  carved  in  the  coal  behind  the 


WILLIAM    AND    DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.       2QI 

doors.  It  is  their  business  to  open  the  doors  at 
the  approach  of  the  trams,  and  close  them  when 
safely  through.  To-day,  of  course,  there  was  no 
door-opener,  and  the  party  passed  through  without 
a  word. 

William's  face  bore  a  stern,  anxious  expression  ; 
he  went  about  his  work  with  great  caution.  Pres- 
ently he  tapped  what  seemed  to  be  solid  walls  of 
coal,  and  pointed  out  to  the  foreman  ominous 
streams  of  water  trickling  from  the  sides.  The 
old  man  shook  his  head.  "  There's  wuss  than  this 
to  come,  maister." 

"  Stay  here,  Herly,"  said  William.  "  The  air  is 
too  damp  for  you  in  this  level.  We  are  bound  to 
come  back  this  way,  so  you  had  better  come  no 
farther.  Just  stand  on  the  other  side  of  the  door, 
the  air  is  better  there.  I  would  tell  you  to  go  to 
the  foot  of  the  shaft,  but  you  would  lose  your 
way." 

Dr.  Herly,  who  was  coughing  incessantly,  went 
back  to  the  door.  He  closed  it  and  stood  on  the 
other  side,  but  was  overcome  by  the  feeling  of 
isolation ;  he  opened  it,  and  stood  watching  the 
faint  light  of  the  candles  as  they  went  farther  and 
farther  from  him.  He  shivered  with  a  sudden, 
indefinable  feeling  of  terror,  as  he  stood  several 
minutes  waiting.  The  other  men  went  steadily 
on,  coming  at  length  in  the  next  level  to  the  place 
where  the  men  had  been  at  work  a  few  days  be- 
fore. 


2Q2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"They  had  no  business  to  work  here  at  all," 
cried  William.  "  This  seam  of  coal  is  thin  enough 
and  too  thin,  for  the  work  it  has  to  do.  Listen, 
mates ! " 

There  was  a  dull  sound  of  water  splashing  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall. 

"  Another  hour's  work  would  have  broken 
through  into  the  old  pit,"  said  William,  sternly. 
"The  gaveller  must  have  been  drunk  when  he 
said  this  level  is  safe.  We  are  not  safe  a  minute 
here.  Listen  to  that,  and  that !  " 

The  men  looked  at  one  another  with  awe-struck 
faces.  Distant  moans,  as  of  spirits  despairingly 
working  for  their  freedom,  came  to  their  ears, 
and  the  continual  rush  of  water.  Yes  ;  far  below, 
in  the  heart  of  the  earth,  alive  and  wild  with  li- 
cense, the  winds  roam  through  the  coal-mines. 
Power  is  in  their  blast ;  they  touch  what  cannot 
escape  them,  —  not  an  entry  but  they  visit,  not  a 
crack  or  cranny  where  their  breath  is  not  felt. 
These  wind-voices  wander  and  sigh,  sometimes  in 
monotone,  sometimes  raving  and  shrieking,  —  sen- 
tient, life-giving. 

"We  can't  go  no  farther,"  said  the  foreman,  a 
few  yards  ahead  of  the  party.  "  I  be  up  to  my 
knees  in  water ;  I  walked  right  into  it." 

"  More  vool  thee,"  said  Billy,  with  a  growl  of 
enjoyment.  As  he  spoke,  a  small  jet  of  water 
burst  from  what  appeared  to  be  a  solid  mass  of 
coal,  and  douched  him  from  head  to  foot. 


WILLIAM    AND    DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.       293 

"  Run  for  your  lives,"  shouted  William.  "  Don't 
try  to  reach  the  shaft,  the  water  will  be  there  first. 
Run  for  the  upland  level." 

How  do  men  run  for  their  lives  ?  Silently,  in 
breathless  haste,  thinking  first  of  themselves,  ac- 
cording to  God's  law  of  self-preservation.  Dr. 
Herly,  worn  out  by  his  long  fight  for  his  life,  did 
not  set  a  very  high  value  on  the  pleasures  of  exist- 
ence. When  the  flying  footsteps  approached  he 
understood  at  once  what  caused  the  breathless 
race.  He  stood  waiting,  with  the  door  wide  open, 
thus  giving  his  friends  a  chance  of  escape.  Wil- 
liam, as  he  passed  through,  stopped  to  close  and 
fasten  it,  knowing  it  was  strong  enough  to  keep 
the  water  at  bay  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he 
caught  the  doctor  by  the  arm  and  cried,  "  Run, 
run  !  "  After  a  few  moments  the  path  became  so 
narrow  that  William  went  on  ahead.  The  doctor 
soon  fell  behind  in  a  race  whose  deadly  earnest 
gave  wings  to  the  flying  feet,  but  deprived  him  of 
his  breath.  Presently  he  heard  a  report  like  can- 
non, then  a  rush,  a  howl  of  fury  from  the  passing 
wind.  He  lighted  a  match,  and  saw  a  surging 
wave  advance  which  seemed  to  block  up  the  pas- 
sage behind  him.  He  tried  to  ascend  the  hilly 
level  as  one  does  in  nightmare.  It  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  must  die,  if  not  by  drowning,  from  ex- 
haustion. He  was  in  darkness ;  behind  him  the 
rush  of  the  waters  and  the  roaring  of  an  ocean  in 
his  ears.  He  panted  and  struggled  for  breath ; 


294  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

upward,  ever  upward.  Oh,  the  darkness,  the  hor- 
ror of  that  moment !  Was  the  water  rising  faster 
than  he  could  climb  ?  He  fell  down,  and,  too 
breathless  to  rise,  crept  on  hands  and  knees. 
Every  yard  he  could  climb  gave  him  a  better 
chance  of  his  life.  Had  he  looked  up  then,  he 
must  have  seen  a  dim  light  by  his  side.  A  strong 
arm  uplifted  him,  and  he  felt  himself  carried 
swiftly  upwards,  —  ever  up. 

"  Put  me  down,"  he  panted,  presently.  "  I  have 
got  my  breath  again." 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  said  William,  tenderly.  "  I  was 
a  brute  to  forget  you  had  only  one  lung.  I  thought 
you  were  close  on  my  heels.  Now,"  setting  him 
down,  "come  as  fast  as  you  can,  for  the  water 
rises  every  minute." 

After  a  few  moments,  they  came  up  with  the 
rest  of  the  party. 

"  We  can't  get  no  furder  up,  maister,"  said  the 
foreman. 

William  lighted  his  candle,  and  called  out  the 
names  of  all  who  had  come  down  into  the  mine. 

"  We  are  all  here,  thank  God ! "  said  he.  "  Doc- 
tor, we  owe  our  lives  to  you  for  opening  that  door 
for  us.  If  we  had  had  to  wait  there,  the  water 
would  have  caught  us." 

"  Oh  !  that  was  nothing,"  said  he,  feebly. 

"  It  was  rare  brave  of  you,  doctor,"  said  the 
foreman,  heartily,  as  he  lighted  his  candle,  and  be- 
gan carefully  looking  round  their  place  of  retreat. 


WILLIAM    AND    DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.       295 

"  I  don't  think  the  water  will  get  up  here,"  said 
William,  cheerfully ;  "  there  are  all  those  lower 
levels  to  fill." 

"Even  so,  maister,"  said  Bill.  "But  how  be 
we  to  get  out  ?  " 

There  was  silence.  Every  one  but  Dr.  Herly 
knew  the  position  of  the  upland  level.  He,  re- 
clining on  a  bed  of  coal  with  his  head  on  his  arms, 
was  fighting  a  battle  with  his  oppressed  lungs. 
His  breath  came  in  painful  spasms ;  he  scarcely 
heeded  the  question,  or  the  marked  silence  fol- 
lowing. 

"  We  may  have  to  stop  here  a  long  time,"  said 
William.  "  Let  us  make  a  few  arrangements  for 
our  comfort.  We  might  be  worse  off  for  space, 
at  any  rate." 

Stolidly  the  men  turned  over  some  huge  blocks 
of  coal,  and  peered  round  on  every  side.  They 
were  in  a  rough  chamber  cut  in  the  coal,  or  in  the 
rock,  where  some  ignorant  workers  had  mistaken 
signs  of  coal  for  a  seam. 

"  Has  thee  got  thy  pick,  Bill  ? "  asked  the  fore- 
man. 

"  Ay,  lod.  I  carr'd  'un  up  out  of  thicky  level 
we  was  in." 

"  Lucky  for  us  then,"  said  another  man,  sitting 
down. 

There  was  nothing  fresh  to  find  out  about  the 
spot ;  the  men  sat  down  to  think.  Their  slow 
brains  as  yet  scarcely  realized  their  position.  A 


296  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

few  moments  of  abstraction,  and  every  thing 
would  be  clearly  defined  to  their  mind,  without 
exaggeration. 

William  spent  this  interval  in  striving  to  relieve 
Dr.  Herly.  He  drew  his  thin,  suffering  frame  to 
his  breast,  and  wiped  the  beads  of  agony  from  his 
brow. 

"  I  am  better,"  panted  the  doctor.  "  Don't 
trouble  about  me,  Will.  Good  God !  what  an 
agony  is  shortness  of  breath." 

William  took  off  his  coat  and  threw  over  his 
friend,  who  was  in  a  profuse  perspiration,  though 
the  wind  was  cold  that  blew  up  the  level  from  the 
waters  below. 

"You  have  got  enough  to  think  of  without 
troubling  about  me,"  said  Dr.  Herly.  "  I  shall  be 
well  again  soon." 

William  thought  sadly  how  improbable  it  was 
that  the  poor  doctor  would  ever  be  "  well "  again 
in  this  world. 

Just  then  the  men  stirred.  The  thinking  was 
done ;  the  worst  was  realized  ;  the  chances  of  res- 
cue calculated.  The  foreman  became  spokesman. 

"  There  be  four  things  we  can  do,"  he  said,  re- 
lapsing a  little  into  the  dialect.  "We  can  drownd, 
and  we  can  starve,  so  be  we  bide  here  long  enough  ; 
or  we  can  work  our  way  out  through  twenty  yards 
of  rock,  or  we  can  try  to  make  our  way  into 
Prowse's  pit,  as  opens  about  as  vur  from  this  un 
yeer  level." 


WILLIAM    AND    DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.       297 

"  Zay  out  what  ya  means,"  said  Bill,  in  disgust. 
"  Thee  knows  as  any  of  them  ways  means  death." 

"What  does  thee  think,  maister?"  asked  the 
foreman. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  how  high  the  water  is,  mates, 
before  I  give  my  opinion." 

He  knew  the  men  would  consider  him  their 
chief.  It  was  time  to  form  some  opinion  as  to 
what  could  or  could  not  be  done.  He  lighted  his 
candle,  and  the  men  followed  him  as  he  walked 
cautiously  on.  Not  very  far,  alas !  for  there  was 
the  water  creeping  silently  higher  and  higher. 
Dark  and  cold,  now  surging  now  retreating,  it 
moves  onward  with  cruel  determination  to  climb 
to  the  place  of  refuge.  Oh,  how  helpless  is  man 
against  the  world  of  matter !  water  must  find  its 
level ;  man  engulfed  in  water  must  die.  Three 
score  years  and  ten !  Who  said  that  was  the  limit 
of  human  life  ?  The  waters  laugh  at  the  idea  of 
such  longevity,  lapping  higher  every  moment. 
The  wind,  too,  holds  a  revel ;  dismal  moans  flit 
through  the  galleries,  —  sighs  that  rise  to  shrieks. 
Is  this  to  be  borne  for  hours  and  days  ?  Better 
face  the  worst  at  once.  A  few  moments  of  des- 
perate struggle,  and  all  would  be  free  of  this 
prison.  Did  such  thoughts  float  through  the  slow 
brain  of  Billy,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  baint  a  goin'  to  be  drowned  by  inches.     If 
drowned  I  must,  drowned  I  will ;  and  in  I  goes." 
But  for  the  clutch  of  the  foreman  he  would  have 


298  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

thrown  himself  into  the  dark  water,  and  thus  es- 
caped his  prison. 

"  Don't  be  a  coward,  Bill,"  said  William,  sternly. 
"  You  can  bear  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us,  I  should 
hope.  Put  an  end  to  yourself,  and  leave  your 
mates  to  their  fate !  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Bill." 

"Ay,  shame,  indeed!"  echoed  the  men.  "Mais- 
ter,  we  sink  and  swim  together." 

"Shake  hands  on  that,"  said  William.  "We 
are  all  Foresters ;  we've  got  the  grit  to  die  like 
true  men." 

They  griped  each  other's  hands  at  this,  then 
slowly  returned  to  Dr.  Herly,  who  was  now  sitting 
up,  able  to  breathe  without  pain. 

"  I  would  give  much  for  a  glass  of  water,"  said 
he,  smiling. 

"  You'll  have  more  water  than  you  want  soon," 
muttered  Tom  Jones,  as  he  unslung  his  cider  keg. 
"Take  a  drink  of  cider,  doctor." 

Dr.  Herly  was  too  thirsty  to  refuse,  though  he 
disliked  the  acid  cider.  A  little  of  it  quenched 
his  thirst  effectually. 

"  Has  any  one  got  any  thing  to  eat  ? "  said  the 
foreman,  suddenly.  "  If  he  has,  let  him  hand  it 
over  to  the  maister,  and  let  him  keep  it  for  the 
common  good.  We  must  spin  our  lives  out  as 
long  as  we  can." 

The  men,  without  a  word,  handed  over  their 
"tommy"  bags  to  William. 

"  Now  the  cider,  mates,"  said  the  foreman,  hand- 
ing his  own  as  he  spoke  to  the  young  maister. 


WILLIAM    AND   DR.    HERLY    IN    THE    MINE.      299 

"Light  the  candle,  foreman,"  said  William. 
"  Now,  doctor,  please  tell  us  how  little  we  may  eat 
daily,  and  yet  keep  the  breath  of  life  in  us." 

While  the  doctor  carefully  examined  the  amount 
of  food,  the  foreman  suddenly  pounced  on  Billy, 
who  was  burrowing  under  the  coal. 

"What  an  uneasy  beast  thee  bist,"  said  he, 
angrily.  "  What  bist  up  to,  lod  ?  " 

"Jim  Kear  a  told  I  as  a  left  a's  pick  yeer  last 
time  a  was  in  thickee  theer  level,  and,  sure  enough, 
here  a  be." 

"  Two  picks  !  "  cried  the  foreman.  "  Maister, 
we  must  begin  this  very  hour  to  work  our  way  out. 
Two  picks  and  twenty  yards  of  solid  rock  sounds 
bad,  don't  it  ?  But  put  us  at  it,  and  its  hard  if  we 
don't  make  some  way." 

"I'll  begin,"  cried  Billy,  springing  up.  "And 
I,"  said  another  man.  The  foreman  and  William 
told  them  where  to  begin,  and  they  eagerly  went 
to  work. 

"  If  it  don't  do  nothin'  more  than  keep  the  men 
busy,  its  worth  something,"  said  the  foreman 
gravely,  to  William. 

Then  William  knew  that  the  foreman's  opinion 
agreed  with  his  own,  —  that  there  was  little  hope 
of  ever  seeing  daylight  again.  The  opinion  re- 
mained unspoken,  however,  even  between  these 
staunch  comrades. 


30O  HEAVEN  S   GATE. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  THE  HOLLIES. 

T3  EGINALD  had  spent  the  morning  with 
-1 V  George  Drew  and  some  friends  who  had 
come  up  for  a  day's  shooting ;  at  noon  the  party 
stopped  at  the  Hollies  for  some  lunch.  The  men 
gathered  round  the  bright  coal-fire  with  much  jovial 
discussion  of  their  various  "bags."  Rhoda  was  at 
the  table  showing  her  wonderful  dexterity  in  carv- 
ing partridges.  Reginald  was  out  of  spirits,  and 
kept  wandering  from  room  to  room,  glad  that  his 
guests  were  too  hungry  to  heed  his  abstracted 
humour. 

"  Come  to  luncheon,  Reginald  !  "  called  Rhoda. 
"  Mr.  Drew,  pray  take  the  seat  by  father.  As  for 
you,  Regi,  you  don't  deserve  any  thing,  you  are  so 
late." 

Reginald  made  a  slight  apology,  and  began  to 
help  his  guests,  but  presently  got  up  and  wandered 
to  the  window. 

"For  whom  are  you  looking,  Regi?"  called 
Rhoda. 

"  I  expected  Herly  and  William  to  lunch,"  said 
he. 


THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  THE  HOLLIES.    30! 

"  Well,  they  know  the  way  here,"  she  answered, 
merrily.  "Come  and  sit  down,  Reginald." 

He  turned  reluctantly;  but  the  sound  of  a  horse 
galloping  up  the  lane  made  him  look  back;  the 
next  instant  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"  What's  wrong  now  ? "  said  Mr.  Reece,  in  an 
irritable  tone.  "Tell  that  man  he  had  no  busi- 
ness to  come  here  and  disturb  us  at  luncheon," 
he  added,  severely. 

Ere  the  words  were  fairly  spoken,  Reginald 
returned,  his  face  stern  and  haggard,  impossible 
even  for  him  at  this  juncture  to  exclude  the  un- 
pleasant from  life. 

"The  water  has  burst  into  the  pit,"  he  said, 
abruptly. 

"  What  a  mercy  the  men  did  not  go  down  to- 
day," observed  Rhoda,  calmly.  "Of  course  I  am 
very  sorry  for  you,  Regi,  but  loss  of  life  would  be 
terrible.  Now  all  is  right  with  the  men,  you  must 
not  mind  the  money  loss." 

Reginald  staggered  back  at  her  words ;  he 
caught  at  the  door  for  support.  Money!  What 
was  money  at  this  moment  ? 

"  William  and  Herly,  the  foreman,  and  six  men 
went  down  the  shaft  this  morning ;  they  have  not 
come  up,"  he  said,  in  a  nightmare  of  horror. 

"  What ! "  cried  George  Drew,  rising,  all  the 
man  alive  in  him  at  this  moment.  "  They  cannot, 
they  shall  not,  be  drowned  like  rats  in  a  hole  !  To 
the  rescue,  boys,  to  the  rescue !  " 


3O2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

He  rushed  to  the  stables,  found  and  saddled  his 
horse,  too  intent  to  perceive  that  all  the  men  were 
following  his  example,  and  that  Reginald,  more 
impatient  of  delay  than  the  others,  had  mounted 
his  hunter  bare-back,  and  ridden  away  across  the 
country,  taking  the  hedges  and  ditches  lying  in 
the  way  as  mere  trifles  in  his  path.  In  a  few 
seconds  he  was  followed  by  the  other  men,  who, 
silent  with  the  blind  horror  of  the  news,  tore  away 
in  frantic  haste  to  reach  the  pit's  mouth. 

The  news  had  spread  to  the  village.  A  black 
mass  of  men  and  women  crowded  round  the  spot, 
some  climbed  on  the  hillocks  of  coal  thrown  up  on 
every  side.  The  women  wept  and  wrung  their 
hands ;  the  men,  with  clenched  fists  and  sullen, 
dogged  faces,  stood  waiting  for  a  leader,  one  who 
could  suggest  something  whereby  they  could  use 
their  strength  to  help  rescue  their  comrades. 
They  parted  on  every  side  as  Reginald  came  tear- 
ing up  the  slope ;  their  sullen  faces  did  not  astonish 
him.  His  keen  intelligence  assured  him  that,  if 
the  men  had  hated  him  before  the  accident,  their 
hatred  would  be  redoubled  now,  since  it  was  by 
his  wish  that  the  examination  had  been  made. 
At  this  moment,  supreme  desire  to  save  his 
friends  overcame  his  morbid  dislike  of  being  un- 
popular. 

"  Has  any  one  been  down  the  shaft  ? "  cried  he, 
in  a  voice  heard  by  all. 

"Ay,  sir!   I  went   down   some   ways,  but   the 


THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  THE  HOLLIES.    303 

water's  thirty  foot  deep.  Can't  do  nothin'  that 
way." 

"We  can't  do  any  thing  that  way,  then,"  said 
Reginald ;  "  and  if  our  friends  were  overtaken  in 
the  lower  levels,  nothing  we  can  do  will  help  them 
now,  they  must  have  been  drowned  at  the  first 
rush  of  the  water." 

Drowned  !  There  was  a  long-drawn  sob  from 
the  women  in  the  crowd,  a  murmur  of  assent  from 
the  men. 

"  I  see  you  are  at  work  at  the  pumps,  but  yoti 
know  as  well  as  I  how  hopeless  a  task  that  is.  It 
would  be  a  week  before  that  water  could  be 
pumped  out." 

"  Ay,  and  the  rest,"  was  the  surly  assent  of  a 
man  near. 

A  woman  beside  him  sat  down  on  the  ground, 
hiding  her  head  on  her  knees,  rocking  back  and 
forth  in  a  misery  too  deep  for  words,  too  awful  for 
expression.  Only  the  drawn  face,  the  depth  of 
woe  in  the  eyes,  could  attest  to  her  agony. 

"  Her  mon  be  down  there,"  said  a  kindly  woman. 
"  Her  takes  it  quiet,  don't  'ur  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  there  was  no  chance  at  all  of  our 
doing  any  thing  for  them,"  said  Reginald,  speaking 
with  rapid  energy,  "  but  Mr.  William  is  down  with 
them.  You  all  know  what  he  is." 

"  Ay,  ay,  master !  "  came  in  hearty  response. 

"He  is  as  much  at  home  underground  as  any 
man  among  you,"  continued  Reginald.  "I  am 


304  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

convinced  his  first  thought  would  be  that  the 
lower  levels  would  be  flooded  before  his  party 
could  reach  the  cage,  and  so  he  would  be  sure  to 
make  for  the  upland  level." 

"The  upland  level,"  burst  in  a  roar  from  the 
crowd.  Surly  faces  softened  ;  there  was  a  return 
of  cordiality  towards  Reginald  for  the  bright 
thought. 

"  If  they  got  safely  to  that  level,  —  the  seam 
runs  up,  you  know,  —  there  they  are  now ;  and  the 
only  question  is,  can  we  get  at  them  ? " 

"We  can,  we  will!"  cried  a  voice  from  the 
crowd.  Reginald  saw  Mr.  Fordyce  amongst  the 
men.  "Come  on,  some  of  you,  and  show  me 
where  this  upland  level  lies." 

No  need  of  his  inspiriting  words  to  give  life  to 
the  eager  men  ;  they  but  waited  to  shoulder  their 
picks,  and  then  marched  in  a  body  after  Reginald, 
who  rode  on  rapidly  for  the  upland  level.  The 
rock  there  had  been  quarried  out  for  stone  with 
which  to  mend  the  roads.  Impenetrable  rock  it 
seemed  to  be,  —  hard,  defiant.  A  kind  of  rage 
came  over  the  men  as  they  faced  it. 

Reginald  consulted  with  the  gaveller,  who  was 
present  and  sober  in  the  face  of  this  terrible 
calamity,  as  to  the  best  place  to  begin  the  work ; 
and,  when  this  point  was  decided,  the  men,  led  by 
Mr.  Fordyce,  fell  to  with  furious  blows.  Reginald 
arranged  the  men  into  gangs,  as  only  a  few  could 
work  at  once.  The  women  and  children  would 


THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  THE  HOLLIES.    305 

not  be  sent  away,  but  implored  to  be  allowed  to 
help ;  so  he  set  them  to  pick  up  and  wheel  away 
the  broken  bits  of  stone  in  barrows,  thus  keeping 
the  road  clear  where  the  men  were  working. 

"  It  is  a  useless  effort,"  said  Mr.  Reece,  calmly, 
as  he  drove  up  to  the  spot.  "  There  are  twenty 
or  thirty  yards  of  stone  between  you  and  the 
mine,  and,  ten  to  one,  the  men  nev^r  reached  the 
upland  level  in  time  to  escape  the  water." 

There  were  groans  and  hisses  at  these  discour- 
aging words.  Several  stones  were  flung  at  him 
by  some  women,  and  that  with  no  gentle  hand. 
Finding  himself  in  the  minority,  he  got  out  of  his 
phaeton  and  walked  up  to  the  working  gang,  with 
the  intention  of  explaining  to  them  how  great 
their  folly  was  in  wasting  labour  in  this  way.  He 
was  silenced,  however ;  for  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
vicar,  who,  hatless,  and  without  coat  or  vest,  was 
dealing  fierce  blows  on  the  impassive  rock.  No ; 
a  collier  there  could  rival  him  in  swinging  the 
pick  ;  nature  had  moulded  him  for  an  athlete. 

"  Friends,  we  must,  we  will,  save  them,  God 
helping  us,"  he  cried,  when  it  was  time  to  give  up 
to  the  next  gang.  Then,  walking  into  the  midst 
of  the  waiting  crowd,  he  held  up  his  hands,  say- 
ing,— 

"  Friends,  we  are  doing  all  in  our  power,  let  us 
now  ask  God  to  help  us  in  our  efforts  to  save  our 
dear  ones.  I  will  speak  for  us  all,  but  see  to  it 
that  each  man  makes  his  own  appeal  in  his  heart 
of  hearts." 


306  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  Amen  to  that,"  said  the  voice  of  Jim  Bryan, 
from  the  crowd.  The  colliers  followed  the  earnest 
words  with  intense  feeling ;  the  hearts  of  all  gave 
one  imploring  cry  for  help  in  this  extremity. 

"That  is  what  I  call  religion,"  said  George 
Drew,  respectfully.  "  The  man  acts  and  prays 
both  :  see  how  the  colliers  believe  in  him.  I  de- 
clare, man,  if  he  is  not  walking  off  now  arm  in 
arm  with  Jim  Bryan,  the  ranter." 

It  was  even  so.  Side  by  side  the  two  teachers 
of  Christ's  words  had  worked  to  save  their  friend's 
lives ;  side  by  side  now  they  sat  clown  to  rest,  and 
help  one  another  and  others  by  their  comforting 
words. 

"  I  say,  Fordyce,"  said  Reginald,  reluctantly ; 
"bad  news  travels  fast.  I  am  afraid  some  one 
may  tell  them  too  suddenly  at  Heaven's  Gate." 

"  What !  do  they  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not ;  I  think  not.  Might  we  keep  it 
from  them  a  day  longer  ? "  he  asked,  looking  down. 

"They  must  know,"  said  the  vicar.  "I  only 
hope  it  may  not  have  been  blurted  out  to  them 
already." 

"  If  you  will  go,"  began  Reginald,  eagerly,  "  my 
horse  is  here  at  your  service." 

"  I  see  that  I  had  better  do  so.  I  will  start  at 
once." 

Then  the  vicar  turned  to  Jim  Bryan,  explaining 
to  him  the  sad  mission  on  which  he  was  leaving, 
saying  he  did  not  mean  to  desert  his  post. 


THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  THE  HOLLIES.    307 

"There  are  plenty  to  work  without  you,"  said 
Reginald. 

"  But  as  long  as  my  friends  are  in  the  mine,  my 
right  arm  shall  work  for  their  deliverance,"  replied 
the  vicar. 

This  spirited  reply  was  repeated  to  the  colliers 
by  Bryan,  and  a  cheer  arose  for  Mr.  Fordyce  as  he 
rode  away.  The  poor  man  rode  slowly.  It  was 
the  second  time  he  had  been  the  bearer  of  ill  news 
to  his  friends  at  Heaven's  Gate.  As  he  rode, 
evening  approached.  Storm-clouds  rose  on  the 
horizon  and  stretched  across  the  sky,  but  the 
moon  shone  as  yet  unshadowed  by  the  climbing 
clouds. 

Heaven's  Gate  came  in  view,  standing  clearly 
defined  in  the  moonlight.  Very  still,  very  restful 
to  the  eye,  was  the  old  place  to-night.  Mr.  For- 
dyce dismounted,  and  led  his  horse  slowly  along, 
striving,  as  he  went,  to  find  words  gentle  enough 
to  use  in  breaking  this  terrible  news.  He  realized 
the  impossibility  of  any  human  aid  to  spare  the 
sufferers  a  single  pang. 

A  sudden  gust  of  wind  bowed  the  heads  of  the 
forest-trees  ;  it  was  like  the  rush  of  a  wild  spirit 
overhead.  It  seemed  to  belong  to  the  storm- 
clouds,  coming  like  a  voice  full  of  woeful  prognos- 
tications. In  marked  contrast  lay  the  smiling 
valley,  the  moonlit  Severn  gliding  like  a  streak  of 
silver  through  the  meads. 

Night  is  calm  and  still ;  yet  joy  or  sorrow  com- 


308  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

ing  at  night  has  its  joy  intensified,  its  sorrow 
deepened.  Struggle  with  the  oppression  caused 
by  the  darkness !  —  My  God  !  Pray  for  light,  poor 
suffering  soul ! 

"  My  God,  give  me  words ! "  prayed  the  vicar, 
as  he  drew  near  the  house. 

Something  white  and  still  stood  in  the  gate-way, 
the  moonbeams  shining  on  it,  the  wind  sweeping 
past.  Mr.  Fordyce  knew  that  it  was  Marta  stand- 
ing there  to  watch  for  William,  as  she  always  did 
when  he  was  late  in  coming  home.  The  hour  was 
come  when  he  must  deal  this  cruel  blow.  Seven 
miles  away  he  had  thought  he  could  do  it ;  now, 
his  tongue  clove  to  his  mouth. 

"John,  dear,  is  it  you?"  she  began,  cheerfully, 
putting  out  her  hands  in  welcome.  "  I  am  wait- 
ing for  William  ;  have  they  kept  him  for  the  night 
at  the  Hollies  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  his  fault  that  he  did  not  come," 
said  John,  with  an  effort.  "He  —  was  prevented." 

Marta  was  silent ;  then  she  reflected  that  all 
must  be  well,  or  the  vicar  would  not  have  left 
William. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  to  be  in  the  Forest 
to-day,"  she  said  at  last,  cheerfully. 

"  Nor  was  I,  love,"  he  replied  slowly,  desper- 
ately forcing  himself  to  begin  his  mission.  "  The 
rumour  of  an  accident  took  me  to  the  spot." 

"  Not  at  our  collieries  ? "  she  cried,  in  a  quick 
tone.  He  came  near  and  put  his  arms  round  her, 


THE  ACCIDENT  MADE  KNOWN  AT  THE  HOLLIES.    309 

drawing  her  silently  to  his  breast.  She  was  shiv- 
ering from  head  to  foot. 

"  Can  you  bear  to  hear,"  he  said,  unsteadily. 

"  For  God's  sake,  tell  me  the  worst !  This  sus- 
pense is  awful,"  she  cried. 

Mr.  Fordyce,  as  gently  as  he  could,  told  her  all. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  in  agony;  "and  I  can  do 
nothing,  nothing ! " 

"  You  can  pray,  dearest,"  he  said. 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  a  slight  sound 
behind  him  betrayed  a  listener.  He  turned 
sharply ;  there  on  the  door-step  stood  Mr.  De 
Clifford. 

"Are  you  speaking  of  my  boy,  my  William, 
John  ? " 

Mr.  Fordyce  bowed  his  head,  words  would  not 
come ;  the  old  man  looked  into  his  face,  an  expres- 
sion of  agony  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy ! "  he  cried.  Then  he  stag- 
gered forward  into  the  road ;  he  caught  at  the  neck 
of  the  horse,  and  tried  to  pull  himself  up  into  the 
saddle.  He  turned  his  eyes  as  if  to  entreat  aid. 
John  came  forward,  blinded  by  tears  so  that  he 
did  not  see  the  sudden,  ghastly  change  in  the  face 
of  the  old  man.  Marta  saw  it,  and  darted  forward, 
and  Mr.  Fordyce  put  his  arm  round  him  just  in 
time  to  lay  him  on  the  ground. 

"O  John,  John!  It  has  killed  him,"  cried 
Marta. 

The  cry  brought  all  the  household  to  the  spot, 


310  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

and  the  poor,  paralyzed  old  man  was  carried  to  his 
chamber.  The  old  servants,  hearing  the  bad  news, 
went  about  their  work  weeping.  Old  John  was 
broken-hearted. 


AT   THE    UPLAND    LEVEL.  311 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

AT    THE    UPLAND    LEVEL. 

THE  vicar  returned  to  the  "upland  level,  weary 
with  his  heavy  night's  work  ;  but  he  doffed 
his  coat,  and  joined  the  next  relay  of  workers. 
Bryan,  however,  observed  his  tired  looks,  and 
gave  Mr.  Drew  a  hint,  which  resulted  in  a  rather 
forcible  abduction  of  the  vicar  to  the  shelter  im- 
provised for  the  night.  Here  he  yielded  to  per- 
suasion, and  lay  down  to  snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep. 
He  woke  at  dawn,  and  soon  was  ready  to  join  the 
workmen,  who  had  steadily  continued  all  night  in 
relays. 

"  Dear  friends,"  said  he,  simply.  "  Let  us 
begin  our  work  to-day  with  prayer." 

The  men  set  down  their  picks,  and  knelt  on  the 
dewy  sward.  The  vicar,  standing  in  their  midst, 
prayed  for  power  to  rescue  their  friends  from  their 
prison  of  rock ;  then  he  entreated  that  those 
enduring  the  horror  of  this  impiisonment  might 
have  strength  to  endure  until  human  aid  could 
deliver  them. 

The  earnest  prayer  was  followed  by  a  hearty 
"Amen"  from  the  colliers.  Mr.  Fordyce,  refreshed 


3  I  2  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

by  his  rest,  grasped  a  pickaxe  as  though  he  loved 
the  implement. 

"The  rock  is  as  hard  as  iron,"  grumbled  a 
woman.  "The  men  have  worked  all  night,  and 
yet  have  made  little  way." 

This  was  only  too  true.  Mr.  Fordyce  felt  his 
heart  sink,  as  he  reflected  on  the  number  of  yards 
yet  unbroken.  He  worked  with  redoubled  energy; 
it  was  time  at  sunrise  to  change  gangs. 

"I  am  not  tired,"  he  said,  without  stopping.  "I 
am  going  to  keep  my  place."  He  felt,  somehow, 
that  his  blows  told  more  than  those  of  the  colliers. 
Presently  he  became  aware  of  a  stroke  beside  his, 
before  which  the  rock  appeared  as  wax.  He 
turned  to  see  whose  arm  could  wield  the  axe  with 
such  power,  and  his  eyes  fell  on  the  gigantic  frame 
of  Crawford.  The  men  paused,  then  griped  each 
other's  hands. 

"  You  are  the  man  I  have  longed  for,"  said  the 
vicar. 

"  Ay !  I  can  use  a  pick  with  any  man,"  said 
Crawford. 

H'e  caught  up  the  heavy  tool,  and  hurled  it 
against  the  face  of  the  rock  with  blows  that  made 
the  sparks  fly.  He  took  the  lead ;  Mr.  Fordyce 
followed  as  near  him  as  he  could  keep.  Crawford 
had  been  unrivalled  as  an  athlete  at  Oxford  ;  his 
pluck  and  endurance  had  never  been  fathomed  ; 
he  came  of  a  race  of  fighting  men.  While  the 
university  men  kept  on  without  a  break,  the 


AT  THE  UPLAND  LEVEL.          313 

colliers,  according  to  their  habit,  stopped  con- 
tinually,—  now  to  change  position,  to  rub  their  hot 
foreheads  in  their  sleeves,  or  to  ask  for  a  drink. 
Not  that  they  lacked  eagerness,  only  training. 
The  wives  of  the  entombed  men  came  up  to  the 
rocks  and  plucked  at  them  till  their  fingers  bled ; 
they  felt  their  helplessness  in  all  its  bitterness. 

Margaret,  with  a  face  immobile  as  marble,  moved 
amongst  them.  By  a  strange  kind  of  sympathetic 
relation  the  suffering  women  gathered  about  her. 

"Oh,  miss !  you  be  very  kind  to  try  to  comfort 
we,  but  you  don't  know  nought  about  it,"  was  the 
answer  given  by  one  poor  woman  to  her  words  of 
consolation. 

"  Do  I  not  ? "  muttered  Margaret,  as  she  walked 
away.  "  My  God  !  do  I  not  ?  " 

She  rode  to  her  brother's  residence,  and,  when 
she  returned,  brought  two  wagons  in  her  wake. 
One  contained  provisions,  the  other  bedding,  and 
a  large  tent,  which  had  been  ruthlessly  torn  up  by 
her  order  from  the  archery  grounds.  She  then 
proceeded  to  organize  a  regular  system  for  the 
meals  and  necessary  rest  of  the  workmen.  No 
one  could  have  imagined  she,  too,  was  enduring 
agonies,  —  ay !  worse  agonies  of  sorrow  than  those 
which  made  the  poor  wives  give  themselves  up  to 
bemoanings,  — who  could  have  watched  her  as  she 
skilfully  planned  every  thing. 

When  Crawford  and  Mr.  Fordyce  left  their 
work,  they  found  a  table  laid  in  the  sunshine.  A 


314  HEAVENS    GATE. 

huge  fire  blazed  near  at  hand,  and  a  warm  break- 
fast was  ready  for  them.  Margaret  waited  on 
them  with  swift,  silent  service.  Crawford  forbore 
making  any  remark  on  her  arrangements,  and, 
when  the  vicar  began  to  speak  of  the  improbability 
of  Dr.  Herly's  surviving  many  days  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  mine,  he  interrupted  him  with  words 
of  cheer.  Yet  nothing  he  could  do  could  save 
Margaret  from  torture  a  dozen  times  in  an  hour. 
He  did  not  know  how  often  already  she  had  been 
detained  by  the  women,  as  they  bemoaned  their 
hard  lot  in  losing  such  a  friend  as  Dr.  Herly. 
Over  and  over  she  had  to  hear  that,  though  the 
others  might  be  saved,  there  was  no  hope  for  one 
so  delicate  as  he.  "He  was  at  death's  door  when 
he  went  down,"  said  more  than  one  pessimist. 
"  He  was  marked  for  death,  any  one  could  see 
that,"  was  a  frequent  remark. 

George  Drew  was  invaluable  at  this  crisis.  It 
gave  him  scope  for  using  his  inventive  talents. 
He  continually  thought  of  some  fresh  comfort  he 
could  bring  to  the  spot  for  the  people.  The 
women  constantly  blessed  his  generous  hand.  He 
kept  close  watch  on  the  health  of  the  workers, 
and,  fearing  the  men  were  flagging  one  day  from 
over-work,  he  brought  a  hundred  colliers  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  Forest,  in  order  that  the  weary 
workers  should  have  one  night  of  unbroken  rest. 
He  took  the  whole  expense  of  feeding  the  men 
from  the  beginning,  and  would  have  poured  out 


AT  THE  UPLAND  LEVEL.         315 

money  like  water  if  it  could  have  advanced  the 
cause. 

When  it  grew  dusk  large  fires  were  lighted. 
The  scene  became  ghostly,  horrible.  The  colliers, 
with  their  blackened  faces,  looked  like  ghouls. 
The  women,  whose  wails  rose  on  the  night  air, 
might  have  been  "  Banshees  "  as  they  stood  wring- 
ing their  helpless  hands. 

"  We  are  making  progress,"  said  Crawford,  one 
evening,  to  Margaret,  as  she  set  food  before  him ; 
"and  if,  as  we  hope,  they  are  working  their  way 
to  us,  we  may,  in  a  few  hours,  be  able  to  hold 
some  kind  of  communication  with  them." 

"Four  days  have  passed,"  said  Margaret,  in  a 
cold,  intense  voice  that  thrilled  Crawford  by  its 
terrible  despair. 

"  People  have  been  known  to  live  for  ten  or 
fourteen  days  in  such  a  position,"  said  he,  trying 
to  speak  cheerfully.  "'  By  the  by,  do  you  know 
how  Marta  bears  it  ?  " 

"  Nobly,  like  herself !  But  hers  is  a  hard  lot. 
Duty  keeps  her  at  home  while  she  longs  so  to 
be  here.  And  poor  Mr.  De  Clifford ! "  She 
paused,  then  continued,  "  He  is  able  to  speak 
again  now,  and  sit  up.  His  first  signs  were  made 
for  his  hat ;  he  ceaselessly  implores  Marta  to  bring 
him  here,  but  he  could  not  be  moved  yet." 

"  I  fear  he  has  got  his  death-blow,"  said  Craw- 
ford. "  William  was  the  apple  of  his  eye.  People 
used  to  think  he  did  not  care  for  him,  but  I  never 
believed  that  for  a  moment." 


316  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

Crawford  went  to  his  work,  and  sent  Mr.  For- 
dyce  to  Margaret  for  his  supper.  Tireless,  she 
waited  on  the  workers,  rich  and  poor,  with  the 
same  kindly  service. 

"  Do  yon  never  need  refreshment  and  rest  ? " 
asked  the  vicar,  kindly.  "  I  fear  this  suspense  is 
wearing  on  you,  who  do  so  much  for  others.  You 
are  the  centre  of  comfort  to  us  all  during  this 
time  of  trial." 

"  I  shall  rest  sometime,"  said  she.  "  At  least, 
I  suppose  so.  If  there  be  in  some  far  distant 
world,  a  short  space  of  oblivion  permitted  to  weary 
souls,  I  can  believe  that  I  shall  rest." 

The  vicar  had  not  the  key  to  this  strange 
speech.  He  pondered  over  it.  Presently  he 
said, — 

"  Such  rest  would  not  be  worth  having.  Trust 
in  God's  will  makes  our  lives  full  of  rest,  because 
we  know  that  all  is  well." 

"Will  you  say  all  is  well  if  they,"  pointing  to 
the  rock,  "  never  come  forth  alive  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  say  it,  I  shall  believe  it.  As  years 
go  on,  I  shall  know  it  still  more  clearly.  But  I  do 
not  mean  to  preach  to  you,  whose  noble  heart  and 
unselfish  life  animates  us  all." 

"  Pray  then,"  she  said,  in  her  intense  voice. 
"  God  will  hear  your  prayers.  Tell  him  how  we 
suffer." 

Before  he  could  answer,  she  was  gone. 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.  317 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE. 

IN  the  darkness,  in  the  night,  shake  yourself, 
awake  sleeper ;  the  night  must  be  passing,  the 
autumn  dawn  approaches,  rises  over  the  Forest 
trees,  lingers  rosy-tipped  upon  the  Cotswold.  Ah ! 
the  sun,  it  is  day ! 

No  dawn,  no  sun  !  The  open  eyes  peer  into  the 
gloom,  blinded,  —  see  nothing ;  but  the  spirit,  im- 
petuous, zealous,  full  of  intense  life,  has  eyes, 
wings,  and  ears,  —  eyes  that,  piercing  the  gloom, 
read  despair  on  the  faces  around  ;  wings  that  take 
flight  to  the  wild,  free  forest ;  ears  that  recall  the 
exigencies  of  the  present  in  the  dull  splash  of  the 
water  as  it  rises  and  falls,  driven  by  the  dirge-like 
wind. 

"  Hallo  !  Billy,  mun,  wake  up.  It's  thy  turn  at 
the  pick,"  said  William's  cheery  voice,  as  he  bent 
over  a  recumbent  figure.  The  men  turned  their 
faces  towards  the  speaker  as  though  a  ray  of  sun- 
light had  penetrated  the  dismal  level.  Billy  rose 
slowly.  The  air  is  damp,  and  heavy  with  gases ;  it 
has  become  difficult  to  breathe,  yet  more  difficult 
to  work  in  such  a  foul  atmosphere.  Heavier  than 


318  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

the  air  broods  the  spirit  of  despair.  Exasperated 
by  hunger  and  thirst,  all  but  William  have  suc- 
cumbed to  its  fell  influence.  His  gay  laugh  is 
heard  as  he  calls  over  the  names  of  all  present, 
and  hands  over  the  rations. 

"Come  for  thy  breakfast,  Billy,"  he  cries. 
"  Here  is  at  least  half  an  inch  of  candle  for  each 
of  us." 

"  What  shall  we  do  to-morrow  ? "  asked  the 
foreman,  under  his  breath.  He  was  used  to  fore- 
casting. When  to-day  was  arranged  for,  to  him 
there  was  always  to-morrow. 

"Play  the  men,"  said  William,  bravely.  "If  it 
comes  to  starving,  we  will  do  that.  Let  us  work, 
meantime ;  who  knows  but  we  shall  hear  the  wel- 
come sound  of  picks  from  the  other  side  of  us  ? " 

"  My  old  'ooman,  she'll  be  in  a  purty  way,  a 
thinkin'  I  be  dead,"  said  a  collier.  He  had  made 
this  speech  on  and  off  for  days,  — •  it  afforded  some 
gratification  to  his  poor  wandering  mind. 

Dr.  Herly  stirred,  and  spoke  feebly ;  his  breath- 
ing was  laborious,  most  painful  to  hear ;  his  cough 
made  havoc  with  his  enfeebled  frame.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  tender  care  of  his  fellow-pris- 
oners ;  they  vied  with  one  another  in  attempting 
things  for  his  comfort.  Many  of  their  relatives 
owed  their  lives  to  his  unwearied  care,  and,  since 
they  could  by  no  means  pay  him  for  his  services, 
they  gave  him  their  heart's  devotion.  He  sur- 
prised his  comrades  now  by  his  patient  cheerful- 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.          319 

ness.  The  uneducated  mind  dwells  with  gusto  on 
the  details  of  pain ;  the  educated  regrets  its  pres- 
ence as  detracting  from  perfection  of  mind  and 
body,  and  bears  it  with  silence  and  fortitude. 

"  I  have  been  dreaming,"  said  Dr.  Herly.  "  I 
was  talking  to  our  friends  outside.  Cheer  up, 
lads,  we  shall  have  good  news  to-day." 

"  I  expect  we  have  all  been  out  of  this  hole  in 
our  dreams,"  said  the  foreman. 

"Ay,"  said  a  collier,  in  a  surly  tone  of  assent. 
"  I  dreamt  as  how  I  was  having  a  round  wi'  Joe 
Stivins.  I  hit  'un  a  black  eye,  I  did." 

"  So  you  'ould,"  said  another  man,  in  a  tone  of 
admiration. 

"You  are  fond  of  hitting  one  another  about," 
said  Dr.  Herly,  in  his  kindly  way  of  ridiculing 
their  faults.  "  I  am  glad  you  never  tried  your 
hand  on  me." 

"  No,  doctor ;  we  don't  want  to  fight  with  such 
as  you,"  said  the  men,  in  a  chorus. 

Silence  fell  on  them  when  they  had  eaten  their 
slender  meal.  A  violent  fit  of  coughing  hindered 
Dr.  Herly  from  trying  to  amuse  the  men  by  some 
anecdotes,  as  he  had  several  times  managed  to  do, 
and  William  could  not  speak  for  sobs,  which 
choked  his  throat  as  he  felt  afresh  that  Dr.  Herly's 
hours  in  this  atmosphere  must  be  numbered. 
Taking  the  pick,  he  dashed  afresh  at  the  rock,  and, 
standing  in  the  midst  of  the  men  when  his  turn 
was  over,  inspirited  them  to  fresh  endeavor.  But 


32O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

the  weary  hours  dragged  on.  Surely  the  sun  must 
almost  have  made  his  descent  to  the  horizon,  and 
night  must  be  near  !  Over  and  over  William  laid 
his  ear  to  the  rock  and  listened.  Alas !  he  heard 
nothing  but  the  wash  of  the  water  and  the  moan- 
ing of  winds. 

The  Selwyns  drove  up  to  the  Forest  late  in  the 
afternoon.  They  had  been  there  all  the  morning, 
but  had  gone  home  for  various  comforts  that  Mar- 
garet had  wanted  for  the  people.  When  they 
drew  near  to  the  tent  two  men  came  forward  and 
stopped  the  horses,  demanding  "  Silence,"  franti- 
cally. Silence !  hundreds  of  people  stood  breath- 
lessly bending  forwards ;  the  crowd  might  have 
been  carved  in  stone,  so  motionless  it  stood. 
Presently  those  nearest  the  workers,  who  had  been 
bending  their  ears  to  the  rocky  wall,  turned  and 
spoke.  A  shout  of  joy  rent  the  air,  followed  by 
sobs  and  confused  murmurs  of  delight,  then  si- 
lence again  obtained  ;  and,  as  the  glad  news  was 
spread  through  the  ranks,  Crawford  was  seen  mak- 
ing his  way  towards  the  carriage. 

"  They  are  alive  !  "  he  cried,  shaking  hands  right 
and  left  as  he  parted  the  crowd.  "  They  are  try- 
ing to  work  their  way  out.  I  heard  the  sound  of 
the  pick." 

He  was  black  as  a  collier,  but  Minnie  grasped 
his  hands,  and  met  his  loving  glance  with  one  of 
such  deep  admiration  that  the  modest  Goliath 
blushed  with  pleasure. 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.  32! 

"  I  can't  stay  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  I'm  aw- 
fully hungry,  and,  as  soon  as  I've  got  something  to 
eat,  I'm  going  back  to  work." 

Minnie  said  she  would  go  with  him  and  wait  on 
him  as  he  ate ;  so,  hand  in  hand,  they  skirted  the 
crowd  and  arrived  at  the  tent. 

The  ghost  of  Margaret  was  there,  —  Margaret 
in  the  spirit  rather  than  in  the  flesh.  Minnie 
watched  her  as  she  carried  the  food  to  the  hungry 
men  ;  she  took  from  her  hands  Crawford's  meal, 
which  he  ate  with  hearty  appetite.  When  all  was 
over  she  saw  that  Crawford  went  quietly  up  to 
Margaret,  and  forced  her  to  give  him  her  attention 
in  his  gentle  way. 

"  In  a  few  hours  we  shall  have  them  safely  with 
us,"  he  said,  cheerily. 

She  gave  him  one  look  of  agony ;  he  turned 
away  with  tears  in  his  eyes ;  he  saw  she  had  given 
up  all  hope  that  Dr.  Herly  could  still  be  living. 
He  went  back  to  his  work,  and  Minnie  watched 
his  vigorous  blows  from  a  distance. 

A  girl,  now  a  mere  shadow  of  her  former 
strength,  crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  tent.  As 
Margaret  passed  in  her  kindly  work,  Minnie 
touched  her  arms  and  pointed  to  the  girl. 

"  Her  lover  is  in  the  mine ;  she  was  to  have 
been  married  to-day,"  said  Margaret,  in  a  cold, 
hard  voice,  her  eyes  dry,  burning  with  the  fever 
nothing  but  sleep  can  allay,  —  sleep !  which  had 
long  since  refused  to  come  to  her  relief. 


322  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  She  will  die  of  grief,"  said  Minnie,  pityingly. 
"  Can  we  do  nothing  for  her  ? " 

"  No ;  she  will  not  die,"  said  Margaret,  bitterly. 
"She  can  weep.  God  has  pity  on  her." 

With  gentle  patience  she  stooped  over  the  girl, 
and  fed  her  with  soup  ;  soon,  at  her  tender  touch, 
the  ready  tears  overflowed.  Minnie  began  to 
understand  that  such  tears  must  be  a  relief. 
Margaret  went  back  to  her  work ;  the  women 
came  thronging  around  her,  pouring  out  their 
hopes  and  fears,  their  dismal  prophecies  as  to  Dr. 
Herly.  Margaret  lent  her  sympathy,  and  listened 
to  all  they  had  to  say  to  her.  She  trod  upon  her 
own  heart  with  bitter  sarcasms,  bitter  revilings. 

"  Dost  thou  then  weep  tears  of  blood,  my  heart  ? " 
she  moaned  to  the  solitude  of  night,  as  she  watched 
for  the  first  streaks  of  dawn.  "  That  were  to  steal 
a  privilege  that  does  not  belong  to  you.  Become 
petrified  !  Cease  to  annoy  by  such  keen  pangs  !  " 

To  the  girl  she  lent  consolation.  "  Weep,"  she 
cried.  "It  will  relieve  your  burdened  heart.  Be- 
sides this,  your  lover  is  strong ;  there  is  hope  that 
you  will  see  him  again." 

The  sun  went  down  amidst  wild  excitement, 
the  sound  of  the  picks  was  again  heard ;  signals 
had  been  made  and  understood.  The  strain  was 
awful,  it  seemed  a  sin  to  breath ;  yet,  amidst  it 
all,  Margaret  thought  of  Marta.  Without  a  word, 
she  set  forth  and  walked  straight  on  to  Heaven's 
Gate.  Was  she  tired  ?  She  knows  not ;  she  was 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.  323 

beyond  feeling  physical  pain.  It  was  a  cold  night, 
a  stormy  wind  rent  the  Forest  with  loud  bemoan- 
ings ;  she  was  unconscious  of  its  power.  The 
wind  fell  as  she  left  the  Forest ;  at  Heaven's  Gate 
all  was  still.  What  is  the  stillness  of  nature  to 
one  whose  soul  is  at  war?  Margaret,  in  this  cruel 
fire  of  suffering,  had  learned  her  lesson.  She  pos- 
sessed a  soul,  a  spirit,  no  suffering  of  the  body 
could  approach  the  sufferings  of  soul. 

She  entered  Heaven's  Gate,  trying  to  simulate 
joy.  She  smiled,  unconscious  of  her  ghastly  looks ; 
said  warm,  kindly  words  with  frozen,  pallid  lips. 
Marta  understood,  and,  while  weeping  with  joy  at 
the  good  tidings,  felt  the  deepest  sympathy  for  the 
unselfish  woman  who  had  thought  of  her  in  the 
midst  of  the  excitement  at  the  level.  She  brought 
her  food,  coaxed  her  to  eat,  and  made  her  lie  down 
to  rest.  Then  she  went  to  tell  her  uncle  the 
news,  and,  when  she  returned,  found  Margaret 
gone.  A  note  was  pinned  to  the  table. 

"  Dear  Marta,  forgive  me !  I  cannot  breathe  so 
far  away." 

The  walk  of  seven  miles  back  again  has  ever 
been  a  blank  in  her  remembrance.  She  must  have 
accomplished  it  very  quickly,  for  she  was  back  in 
her  place  in  the  tent  by  the  time  the  men  came 
for  their  midnight  repast. 

"  We  are  working  on  hands  and  knees,"  said 
Crawford.  "  It  is  frightful,  we  make  so  little  way. 
We  have  made  them  understand  our  signals." 


324  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

"  Are  all  living  ? "  asked  Margaret,  wondering 
how  her  keen  intellect  kept  always  on  the  alert  to 
assert  its  supremacy  over  any  feebleness  of  heart, 
which,  at  that  moment,  apparently  ceased  to  beat. 
Crawford  answered  very  reluctantly. 

"We  signalled  their  number,  hoping  they  would 
understand,"  said  he;  "and  they  answered"  — 

"  By  the  same  ? "  asked  Margaret. 

There  was  a  pause ;  Margaret  saw  tears  standing 
in  his  kindly  eyes. 

"  No  ;  one  less." 

"Yes,"  cried  Reginald,  coming  up,  intensely 
excited.  "We  spelt  out  Herly's  name  and  asked 
if  it  were  he,  and  they  answered  by  three  taps. 
Poor  fellow !  he  could  not,  of  course,  survive  such 
privations." 

"Your  lover  is  living!"  said  Margaret,  stooping 
to  raise  the  girl,  now  exhausted  with  weeping, 
from  the  ground.  "Yes,"  she  said,  kindly.  "He 
is  safe.  Help  me  now  to  prepare  for  the  poor 
fellow  when  he  is  brought  into  the  air ;  he  will  be 
very  weak,  you  know." 

Every  preparation  was  made.  Crawford  came 
soon  to  say,  however,  he  almost  feared  they  were 
too  late ;  it  was  vain  to  signal  any  longer,  no  an- 
swer could  be  heard.  It  was  night.  Large  fires 
were  built,  casting  ruddy  flames  of  light  on  pallid, 
anxious  faces. 

"  My  God  !  "  cried  Margaret,  standing  alone 
upon  the  summit  of  a  heap  of  cinders,  with  face 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.  325 

upraised  to  the  lowering  sky.  "  Where  Thou  art 
I  know  not.  Pity  one  that  suffers.  Send  obliv- 
ion ;  take  away  the  agony  of  an  eternity  so  desolate 
as  mine.  Oblivion  would  be  mercy." 

Thus  she  stood,  wrestling  with  an  agony  that 
rent  her  heart,  and  paralyzed  her  intellect  for  the 
moment.  A  moan  passed  through  the  air  from 
the  women  who  surrounded  the  foot  of  the  rocks. 
Margaret  roused  herself,  forgetting  her  own  mis- 
ery in  the  necessity  of  consoling  others.  As  she 
climbed  down  the  hillock,  the  women  clung  to  her 
with  their  miserable  forebodings. 

"  O  miss !  my  old  man,  married  twenty  year  and 
die  like  this." 

"To  go  without  a  word  like,"  said  another; 
"not  even  my  love  to  ye,  Mary." 

"  O  miss !  You  never  know'd  what  it  was  to 
lose  a  son,"  wept  another.  "There's  my  Billy." 

These  utterances  seemed  to  give  comfort  to  the 
speakers  ;  they  drew  freely  from  the  sympathy  of 
their  friends ;  they  emphasized  their  sufferings 
with  many  a  moan.  The  refinement  of  suffering 
is  that  which  cannot  be  uttered.  "The  heart 
knoweth  its  own  bitterness."  True,  O  king.  At 
length  a  hush  of  anticipation  quieted  the  speakers ; 
no  one  cared  to  listen  if  another  spoke.  All 
crowded  as  near  as  possible  to  the  rock,  where  a 
tunnel  had  been  cut  by  the  workers.  The  last 
part  of  it  was  so  low  that  the  men  had  to  lie  down 
at  their  work,  and  every  stroke  was  made  in  physi- 


326  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

cal  discomfort.  It  was  dangerous  work,  —  no  man 
lay  there  and  wrought  at  that  tunnel  without 
knowing  that  he  did  so  at  the  risk  of  his  life. 
Foul  air,  the  falling  of  loosened  blocks  of  stone 
or  coal,  might  at  any  moment  destroy  him ;  yet 
those  who  waited  their  turn  at  the  dangerous  work 
were  jealous  of  those  who  were  doing  service. 
Some  of  the  women,  rendered  desperate  by  long 
waiting,  tore  again  at  the  grim  rock  with  their  fin- 
gers ;  but  the  rock  felt  nothing. 

Oh,  impotence  of  wrath  when  wielded  against 
matter !  The  rock  stands  ;  it  hears  nothing,  feels 
nothing.  Over  it  climb  the  wild  clematis  vines ; 
in  spring  the  primrose  tufts  bloom  at  its  sheltered 
base ;  over  it  storms  break,  —  it  bears  all,  un- 
changed in  aspect.  Yet  within  these  rocky  walls 
imprisoned  spirits  strain  their  all  for  liberty. 
They  have  hurled  their  blows  at  this  prison  in 
vain  hope  of  escaping  its  grim  walls ;  but  it  is 
matter,  —  dense,  impenetrable,  —  abate  one  atom 
of  its  power  it  cannot.  Still  this  rock  has  lost  a 
prisoner,  this  prison-house  so  guarded  had  an 
open  door  no  power  of  matter  could  lock.  At 
this  portal  stood  the  angel  of  life,  behind  him 
opened  up  the  realms  of  bliss.  Smiling,  the  pris- 
oner, clinging  to  this  angel  hand,  floated  from  out 
the  rocky  prison,  and  escaped.  Ah !  rock  can 
pride  itself  no  longer  that  its  fastness  is  imper- 
vious ;  it  is  but  matter,  it  can  hold  in  its  clasp  but 
matter. 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.          327 

The  night  passed,  the  sun  rose,  still  the  work 
went  on.  Is  there  no  tidings  ?  no  sign  of  life  ? 

"  It  is  an  agony  to  work  now,"  said  Crawford, 
in  one  of  his  brief  breathing  spaces ;  for  he  and 
the  vicar  toiled  harder  than  any  of  the  colliers. 
Their  power  of  endurance  at  this  crisis  was  worth 
much. 

"  It  is  worse  to  do  nothing,"  said  Margaret,  her 
white  face  still  as  a  statue,  — a  marble  mask  which 
successfully  hid  her  sufferings  from  the  vulgar 
eye. 

"  You  have  been  every  thing  to  those  poor  souls 
who  have  got  relatives  in  the  mine,"  said  he,  sim- 
ply. "  It  must  be  very  hard  work,"  and  he  gladly 
escaped  the  tearful  approach  of  one  of  the  women, 
by  returning  to  his  arduous  task. 

Reginald  was  there,  clear-headed  and  clear- 
sighted, the  brain  of  the  rescuing  party.  He  had 
gained  the  respect  of  all ;  no  one  could  have  han- 
dled the  body  of  workmen  better  except  their  own 
beloved  "Maister  Willum." 

"  We  shouldn't  like  no  harm  to  happen  to  he," 
the  rough  men  would  say  in  their  undemonstrative 
way,  as  they  girded  themselves  for  the  work. 

With  the  afternoon  the  clouds  came  up  with 
the  tide  of  the  Severn,  and  floated  on,  drifting 
with  the  wind  currents  till,  tinged  with  black, 
they  veiled  the  sun.  Then  rose  the  wind  in  Dean ; 
its  voice  broke  the  stillness  with  the  ominous 
sound  of  tempest ;  the  bracken  fern  were  stirred  ; 


328  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

the  oaks,  old  dwellers  on  the  soil,  raised  loud 
voices ;  and  the  yews,  as  ancient,  broke  into  dirges, 
for  their  song  was  ever  funereal. 

Is  there  no  sign  yet  ?     None. 

Upon  the  summit  of  the  rock,  beneath  the 
shadow  of  an  oak,  a  wild  spirit,  clothed  as  woman, 
with  arms  upraised,  sent  on  the  wind  the  thrilling 
cry,  "  Let  me  die  ! "  There  was  no  answer.  The 
wind  sobbed,  the  rain  fell. 

"  Death  would  be  too  good  for  me,"  said  Mar- 
garet, bitterly. 

The  men  and  women,  surly  and  hopeless,  joined 
forces  in  making  a  huge  fire.  In  spite  of  the  rain 
it  burned.  They  sat  round  it,  —  black,  ghastly, 
wretched, — from  time  to  time  moving  restlessly 
to  the  entrance  of  the  tunnel  for  news. 

No  news  yet  ?     None. 

"This  is  terrible,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  to  Mar- 
garet. 

"It  is  terrible,"  said  she.  "To-night  must  end 
it." 

"  A  few  minutes  will  end  the  suspense,"  said  he. 
"  Reginald  reports  that  a  small  hole  has  been 
made.  It  will  soon  be  large  enough  to  admit  the 
body  of  a  man." 

"  Every  thing  is  in  readiness,"  said  Margaret. 
"  A  doctor  is  here  from  Gloucester ;  we  have  every 
thing  prepared  for  the  living  and  —  the  dead." 

"The  living?  Can  any  be  alive?"  asked  he, 
gently. 


INTO    THE    DARKNESS    OF    THE    MINE.  329 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  Margaret,  in  a  hard,  strained 
voice.  "  God  will  be-  good  to  the  poor  here,  and 
to  Marta." 

"  He  is  good  to  all,"  replied  the  vicar,  looking, 
with  eyes  that  began  to  understand,  at  the  woman 
whose  marble  mask  had  so  long  misled  him. 

"No!"  she  cried  wildly.  "I  will  be  honest. 
No  cruel  demon  could  torture  the  soul  as  He  does. 
He  rends  the  heart  with  hopeless  sense  of  loss. 
He  does  not  answer  the  most  earnest  prayer  that 
lips  ever  uttered  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  cried  Reginald,  from  the  entrance  of 
the  tunnel. 

Silence  fell  on  the  assembled  crowd,  which 
moved  noiselessly  nearer  to  the  rock. 

"  Stand  back  !  "  cried  the  doctor  in  attendance. 
"  Not  a  word,  not  a  cry." 

Then,  in  a  silence  that  a  deep-drawn  breath 
would  have  broken,  two  men  appeared,  carrying  a 
feeble,  helpless  figure  to  the  light  of  day.  Mar- 
garet, noiseless  as  a  spirit,  glided  to  the  doctor's 
side  with  the  restoratives  he  had  bidden  her  hold 
in  readiness.  She-  saw  not  who  it  was.  The  doc- 
tor, kneeling  beside  the  rescued  one,  laid  his  head 
on  his  heart. 

"  He  lives,"  he  said.     "We  shall  save  him  yet." 

Then  he  gave  Margaret  some  rapid  directions, 
and  left  her.  She  bent  over  the  wasted  form  to 
put  the  restorative  to  the  parched  lips  through 
which  the  breath  of  life  feebly  fluttered. 


33O  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

It  was  Dr.  Herly  ! 

As  Margaret  was  absorbed  in  her  efforts  to  re- 
store consciousness  to  the  beloved  form  at  her 
feet,  she  saw  and  heard  nothing  beside.  Mr.  For- 
dyce  touched  her  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and, 
looking  up,  she  saw  that  even  strong  men  were 
weeping ;  for  there,  with  starvation  written  on 
his  face,  and  peaceful  eyes  upraised  to  heaven,  lay 
the  body  of  the  young  "  Maister." 

For  he  was  dead ! 


THE  RETURN  TO  HEAVEN'S  GATE.     331 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE  RETURN  TO  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

IT  is  night ;  the  rain  has  ceased ;  the  gray  clouds 
roll  back,  and  the  moon  rises  in  the  heavens. 
The  winds  hold  revel  in  that  distant  cloud  world, 
sending  airy  messengers  to  drift  across  the  face 
of  the  moon,  or  away  to  build  a  heavy  mass  upon 
the  horizon.  The  Forest  trees  are  nearly  still ; 
yet,  at  times,  a  voice  rises  and  passes  like  one  great 
wave  of  sound ;  then,  again,  only  the  drip  of  rain- 
drops from  the  leaves  is  to  be  heard.  At  last, 
from  the  heart  of  the  Forest,  out  of  the  depths 
that  eye  cannot  pierce,  a  voice  is  born  in  those 
solemn  shades ;  it  gathers  force  as  it  passes  on- 
ward on  the  winged  winds,  whence  ?  whither  ? 

The  drifting  masses  of  cloud  obscure  the  moon ; 
the  gloom  deepens  in  th,e  Forest.  Listen !  Some- 
thing approaches ;  look  intently  into  the  darkness, 
can  you  see  nothing  ?  Tramp  !  Tramp  !  steady 
and  slow;  the  tread  of  many  feet.  It  comes 
nearer  ;  it  passes  by,  and  there  is  a  sound  as  of  a 
long-drawn  sob  from  the  ranks.  In  their  midst 
they  carry  a  bier  upon  their  shoulders.  The  men 
press  jealously  close  to  those  whose  turn  it  is  to 


332  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

bear  the  burden,  for  it  is  one  whom  they  love  and 
reverence,  and  they  are  all  taking  him  home  to- 
night. With  tender  hands  they  have  covered  his 
face,  for  the  dead  eyes,  half-open  though  they  be, 
cannot  see ;  the  ears  are  deaf  to  the  harmonies  the 
wild  wind  weaves  to-night  in  the  trees  of  Dean. 
The  Forest  voices  swell  upon  the  breeze ;  he  loved 
their  songs.  The  noble  oaks,  the  pride  of  Dean, 
stand  up  against  the  sky ;  he  loved  to  see  them  out- 
lined thus.  But  his  friends  have  covered  his  face ; 
they  know  too  well  that  he  is  dead.  He  whom  they 
bear  so  lovingly,  sees  not,  hears  not ;  the  wailing 
wind  that  sweeps  the  strings  of  countless,  invisible 
harps  might  well  be  playing  a  requiem  for  the 
dead  this  night.  Now  upon  the  open  road,  so 
near  to  Heaven's  Gate,  the  tramp  of  the  hun- 
dred feet  disturbs  the  silent  world.  A  fox  barks 
in  shrill  voice  from  his  lair  in  the  old  park  woods. 
The  voice  that  often  gayly  mocked  him  is  silenced 
for  aye.  The  dogs  at  Heaven's  Gate  break  into  a 
melancholy  howl.  Do  they  know  that  the  hand 
they  loved  best  lies  still  in  death  ? 

A  figure,  still  and  white,  is  standing  at  the 
postern  door.  The  men  uncover  their  heads  and 
stand  in  silence ;  then  one  among  them,  in  a  few 
rude  words  of  prayer,  implores  Almighty  God  to 
help  this  sorrowing  family  in  their  distress. 

Then  the  men  lay  down  the  bier  for  a  moment 
at  the  gate.  Marta  kneels  beside  it,  and  softly 
uncovers  the  face.  The  moon  sheds  its  rays  on 


THE  RETURN  TO  HEAVEN'S  GATE.     333 

the  hillside,  and  lingers  on  that  face  so  white  and 
still,  —  makes  still  more  radiant  that  smile  which 
tells  its  patient  story  of  the  safe  passage  through 
the  river  of  Death  to  realms  of  light,  in  spite  of 
sufferings  heroically  endured.  The  men  stand 
back  as  Marta  stoops  to  kiss  those  smiling  lips, 
and  smooths  the  hair  from  the  broad,  white  brow. 
She  has  welcomed  his  home-coming  for  the  last 
time  ;  God  has  taken  her  charge  out  of  her  hands. 

"  Is  it  wrong  to  pray  for  the  dead  ?  "  she  asked 
the  vicar,  as  her  heart  sent  up  still  the  burden  of 
its  old  cry,  "Father  in  heaven,  take  care  of 
William ! " 

"  Wrong  ? "  he  replied.  "  Not  wrong,  but  how 
needless  when  we  realize  the  love  of  God." 

The  men  came  forward,  one  by  one,  to  take  their 
last  farewell.  Some  kissed  his  brow  (they  had 
known  him  as  a  little  lad) ;  some  his  hand ;  but 
many  only  looked  and  turned  away  to  hide  their 
tears. 

Oh  for  the  sound  of  that  merry  voice  that  had 
known  so  well  how  to  cheer  them,  and  give  them 
heart  for  their  work  ! 

"He  sang  for  them,  miss,  they  do  say,  the  very 
day  he  died.  They  was  all  very  low,  and  he  said 
as  how  he'd  sing  for  them.  He'd  done  it  all  along 
to  cheer  them  up,  but  all  of  a  sudden,  as  he  were 
a-singing,  he  stopped.  'I  can't  sing  no  more 
to-day,  mates,'  he  said.  He  didn't  tell  them  then 
as  he  was  hurted  in  the  breast  by  that  piece  of 


334  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

coal  as  caved  in.  No ;  all  he  says,  was,  '  I  can't 
sing  no  more  to-day,  mates,'  "  said  Bryan. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Marta,  whose  tears  were 
falling  like  rain.  She  made  a  sign  to  them,  and 
they  raised  the  bier  and  carried  him  up  the  stairs 
his  light  foot  had  trod  since  childhood,  to  the 
room  that  had  always  been  his. 

They  laid  him  tenderly  on  the  bed,  and  went 
away,  clumsily  striving  to  make  no  noise.  Blinded 
by  tears,  they  stumbled  along  to  the  gate,  and 
returned  to  their  homes  in  the  Forest. 

Silence  again  fell  on  Heaven's  Gate.  How  still, 
how  silent,  the  one  sleeping  figure,  beside  which 
Marta  knelt,  weeping  in  bitter  sorrow  ! 

His  violin  and  bow  lay  on  their  accustomed  rest, 
just  as  he  had  laid  them  ere  he  left  his  room  ;  some 
pages  of  his  symphony  were  scattered  on  the  table. 

"He  is  in  God's  hands,"  said  the  vicar.  "Marta, 
love,  can  you  not  trust  him  in  such  care?"  Then 
he,  too,  broke  down.  "  He  gave  his  life  for  the 
others,"  he  said,  brokenly.  "All  say  that."  ' 

Outside  his  window  grew  some  pines :  they  were 
old,  blasted,  weather-beaten,  still  they  lived,  while 
he  whose  genius  had  caught  many  an  inspiration 
from  the  monotone  of  these  old  trees,  now  lay 
deaf,  even  to  the  tapping  of  their  bare  arms 
against  the  window-pane. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  when  all  the  house 
was  still,  a  door  was  opened  and  a  feeble  form 


THE  RETURN  TO  HEAVEN'S  GATE.      335 

crept  forth  into  the  corridor.  Clinging  to  the 
walls,  and  leaning  on  his  stick  as  he  went,  the 
poor  father  dragged  himself  to  the  room  where  his 
son,  the  image  of  his  wife,  lay  dead.  He  did  not 
weep,  his  sorrow  was  too  deep  for  such  expression, 
the  light  of  his  life  was  extinguished ;  but  he  hung 
over  the  fragile  form  as  if  he  could  never  part  with 
it  again.  He  touched  the  thin  hand,  and  gazed  at 
the  hollow  cheeks.  "  O  my  boy,  my  own  lad ! " 
he  moaned. 

The  moon  shone  into  the  room.  It  seemed  to 
the  father,  in  the  soft  light,  that  those  smiling, 
half-open  eyes  rested  on  the  violin  on  the  table. 

"You  shall  have  it,  boy,"  said  he.  "No  one 
shall  part  you  from  it  again." 

With  infinite  difficulty  he  dragged  himself  to 
the  table,  and  took  thence  the  violin  and  bow  and 
brought  them  to  the  bedside.  He  laid  the  violin 
lovingly  on  his  boy's  breast,  placed  the  bow  in  his 
hands. 

The  vicar  came  softly  into  the  room.  The  old 
man  pointed  solemnly  to  what  he  had  done. 

"Your  wishes  shall  be  carried  out,"  said  he, 
when  he  could  find  words. 

"He  loved  you,"  said  the  father.  "I  should 
like  you  to  bury  him  in  the  church-yard  yonder, 
in  the  village.  He  shall  not  be  shut  up  in  the 
chapel  vault." 

Thus  it  was  that  William  was  laid  to  rest  in  the 
village, — within  sound  of  the  organ  whose  music 
he  had  so  much  loved. 


33$  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

The  colliers  had  petitioned  to  be  permitted  to 
carry  him  to  his  last  resting-place ;  and  all  who 
had  ever  known  the  young  "  Maister "  marched 
down  from  the  Forest,  and  stood  in  silence  before 
the  house. 

The  sun  shone  brightly  as  the  funeral  proces- 
sion left  Heaven's*  Gate.  Afar  the  purple  Cotswold 
were  outlined  against  the  sky ;  below,  in  the  vale, 
flowed  Severn ;  the  cattle  were  lowing  in  the 
meads. 

The  poor  father,  stricken  again  by  paralysis, 
showed  he  was  conscious  that  the  hour  had  come 
by  the  agonized  looks  he  cast  at  the  door  as  the 
coffin  was  being  carried  down-stairs.  Marta  was 
in  a  carriage  with  the  children.  She  would  not 
be  hindered  from  keeping  watch  over  her  darling 
to  the  last.  It  was  a  long  procession,  and  doubled 
ere  they  came  to  the  village  by  another  quite  as 
large.  Never  before  had  such  a  funeral  passed 
through  the  country  lanes.  The  village  women 
wept  as  they  talked  among  themselves. 

"A  starved  hisself  for  t'others, — just  like  un 
to  do  it,  —  and  then  a  hurted  hisself  with  the  pick. 
And  a  piece  of  coal  struck  his  breast,  and  broke 
it,  they  do  say." 

"The  foreman  says  as  how  he  spoke  just  avore 
a  died,  a  said,  '  Jim,  thee  take  care  of  Dr.  Herly. 
I  don't  want  my  coat  no  more ;  take  it,  man,  and 
cover  u n  over.'  And  when  next  foreman  spoke  to 
un,  a  didn't  answer,  an'  Jim,  he  cried  out,  '  Our 


THE  RETURN  TO  HEAVEN'S  GATE.      337 

maister's  dead!'  An'  the  men  they  all  gin  up 
workin',  and  Dr.  Herly  he  fainted ;  and  foreman 
says  as  how  he  and  t'  men  was  all  a  cryin'  as  if 
their  hearts  was  broke." 

"/  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  read 
Mr.  Fordyce,  as  he  stood  in  his  white  robes  at  the 
church-yard  gates.  Marta  heard  little  else.  It 
uplifted  her  soul,  and  she  repeated  the  words  again 
and  again.  Yet  she  knew  how  hard  it  was  for 
Mr.  Fordyce  to  read  the  service,  heard  his  voice 
tremble,  and  even  break  so  that  he  often  had  to 
pause.  But  it  was  all  like  a  dream  to  her.  The 
foreman  was  there  weeping  bitterly,  and  the  words 
of  hope  were  interrupted  by  many  a  long-drawn 
sob ;  but  Marta's  tears  seemed  dried  by  sudden 
realization  of  the  meaning  of  the  beautiful  prom- 
ises. 

The  bell  was  tolling  at  long  intervals,  its  mourn- 
ful reverberations  filled  the  air  with  solemn  sound. 
Marta  felt  that  the  vicar's  arm  was  round  her,  and 
that  she  was  nearly  back  at  Heaven's  Gate.  All 
was  a  blank  to  her  since  she  had  heard  his  voice 
reading  the  service.  The  strain  had  been  too 
great,  and  she  had  fainted.  When  she  got  home 
she  crept  wearily  up  to  her  uncle's  room.  He  was 
lying  as  she  had  left  him,  with  his  face  to  the  door. 
Was  he  sleeping,  with  that  glad  smile  on  his  face  ? 

"John!"  she  cried,  with  sudden  fear.  "John, 
come  to  me  !  " 

The  vicar  gave  one  glance,  and  paused. 


338  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

"  It  is  well  with  him,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I  thank 
God." 

Then  he  led  Marta  away  from  the  chamber  of 
death. 

The  old  yew  spread  out  its  branches  ;  its  gnarled 
roots  glowed  in  the  sunset.  The  church-bell  tolled. 
Ah  !  mourners,  look  up,  —  above  the  belfry,  above 
the  purple  ridges  of  the  everlasting  hills,  —  up, 
up. 

"What  thou  seekest  is  not  here.     It  has  risen." 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    FOREST.  339 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

FAREWELL    TO   THE    FOREST. 

TWO  years  have  passed  away. 
It  is  summer  again.  The  village  lies  in  the 
sunshine,  its  quaint,  red-tiled  roofs  glowing,  its 
old-fashioned  gardens  full  of  roses  and  flaunting 
tulips.  The  hay-makers  have  carried  in  their  last 
load,  and  the  rick-yards  are  well  filled  with  corpu- 
lent mows.  The  labourers  have  some  of  them,  as 
usual,  given  up  farm-work  for  salmon-fishing ;  and 
women  and  children  are  kept  busy  shelling  shrimps 
for  sale. 

It  is  a  warm  July  afternoon,  and  the  whole  vil- 
lage assumes  a  festive  appearance.  The  people 
are  in  gala  attire,  and  move  in  straggling  groups 
along  the  road  to  the  park.  As  they  draw  near 
the  gates  they  are  met  by  the  brass  band,  which 
marches  in  front  of  them,  playing  a  martial  strain. 
The  delighted  villagers  follow  the  music  until  the 
slope  of  the  hill  behind  the  park  house  is  reached. 
Here  the  band  subsides  into  temporary  oblivion, 
while  the  village  folk  watch  from  the  heights  for 
the  first  sight  of  the  train  from  London. 

Ah,  here  it  is !     The  bells  ring  out  their  silver 


34O  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

peals  of  welcome,  and  the  air  is  full  of  the  sound 
of  hearty  "  hurrahs  !  "  from  Forest  throats.  The 
excitement  grows  intense  as  the  "  hurrahs  !  "  draw 
near;  and  a  crowd  of  colliers,  headed  by  the  old 
foreman,  march  in  good  order  across  the  park.  In 
their  midst  they  are  drawing  a  carriage  from  which 
the  horses  have  been  detached,  all  the  men  eager 
to  lay  a  hand  to  the  stout  ropes  with  which  the 
men  are  harnessed. 

Who  is  this  that  the  undemonstrative  Foresters 
thus  treat  with  such  honour?  Who,  indeed,  but 
their  old  friend,  Dr.  Herly,  who,  with  his  wife,  has 
just  returned  from  his  sojourn  in  Madeira. 

As  the  carriage  stops,  even  the  Selwyns  have 
to  give  way  to  the  eager  crowd  that  gathers  round 
with  outstretched  hands  to  the  doctor  and  his  wife. 

"We  never  expeced  to  see  you  alive  amongst  us 
again,"  cried  many  a  hearty  voice  in  affectionate 
greeting.  "We  thought  you  were  marked  for 
death." 

Dr.  Herly  laughed  in  his  genial  manner,  as  he 
descended  from  the  carriage,  and  then  was  sur- 
rounded by  his  old  friends,  many  of  whom  owed 
life  or  limbs  to  his  skill.  The  old  foreman  kept 
his  place  at  the  doctor's  right  hand. 

"  We  went  through  a  dale  together,  we  did,"  he 
managed  to  say  in  the  doctor's  ear. 

"  Yes ;  we  are  tried  comrades,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"And  when  I  die,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "they've 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    FOREST.  34! 

promised  me  as  I  shall  lie  at  the  feet  of  the  young 
'maister.'  Miss  Marta,  she  says  as  no  one  else 
shall  lie  there  but  me.  I  was  the  last  as  he  spoke 
to  in  this  world,  maybe  I'll  be  the  first  to  see  his 
face  again." 

All  this  was  said  in  the  foreman's  usual  jovial 
tone.  Dr.  Herly  saw  that  he  was  intensely  proud 
of  the  place  that  was  to  be  his  after  death. 

Presently,  Mr.  Selwyn,  seeing  that  the  men 
crowded  more  closely  than  ever  round  the  doctor, 
sent  Crawford  into  their  midst  with  orders  to  carry 
Dr.  Herly  bodily  away  from  them,  if  he  could  not 
otherwise  be  persuaded  to  leave  the  crowd.  He, 
himself,  set  forth  to  rescue  Margaret,  who  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  women  who  had  lived  on  her  brave 
spirit  while  their  friends  were  in  danger.  Outside 
the  crowd  stood  the  Selwyns,  waiting  their  chance 
to  welcome  their  friends  ;  and,  with  them,  Marta, 
Olga  and  Jennie,  and  Mr.  Fordyce. 

"  It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come  back  on  pur- 
pose to  please  these  children,"  said  Mrs.  Selwyn, 
affectionately. 

Marta  and  Minnie  blushed  smilingly.  To-mor- 
row was  to  be  their  wedding-day.  From  the  first, 
Minnie  had  determined  that  they  should  be  mar- 
ried on  the  same  day ;  but  Marta,  who  desired  a 
very  quiet  wedding,  had  not  been  willing  to  con- 
sent to  Minnie's  plan. 

"Dear  Marta,"  said  Mr.  Fordyce,  "I  cannot  see 
any  reason  why  you  should  refuse  so  small  a  thing 


342  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

to  Minnie.  What  though  the  church  be  crowded  ? 
it  will  be  with  friends  who  love  you,  and  come  to 
see  you  married  with  no  common  curiosity.  The 
village  folk  have  known  you  from  babyhood,  and 
they  love  you  for  your  uncle's  sake  as  well  as  your 
own,  for  he  was  a  good  friend  to  them." 

After  this,  Marta  made  no  further  objection  to 
Minnie's  wishes. 

"  How  natural  it  seems  to  be  here  again  !  "  said 
Margaret,  as  she  entered  the  house.  "  Nothing 
seems  to  change  in  the  West  County." 

"  A  superficial  opinion,"  laughed  Crawford. 
"  We  have  prided  ourselves  on  many  moral  revolu- 
tions in  our  way  of  living  since  you  left  us." 

As  Margaret  turned  laughingly  away,  Crawford 
scrutinized  her  appearance  closely.  The  same 
Margaret,  doubtless,  but  yet  so  different  from  the 
unhappy  woman,  whose  restless  movements  had 
called  forth  his  help  in  her  need.  She  was  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  and  her  expression  was  that 
of  one  at  perfect  peace. 

"God  has  given  me  my  heart's  desire,"  Marga- 
ret had  written  to  him  soon  after  her  marriage. 
"  O  Crawford  !  is  it  mean  of  me  now  to  desire  to 
give  Him  my  love  and  duty?  If  it  had  been  other- 
wise, I  fear  I  should  have  hated  Him  ;  but  now, 
oh,  how  easy  it  is  to  desire  to  fulfil  His  will!  " 

Margaret  had  always  been  good  to  the  poor ; 
but  now  it  seemed  as  if  her  life  was  consecrated 
to  the  desire  to  help  those  who  suffered. 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    FOREST.  343 

While  the  travelling  party  dined,  the  band 
played  merry  country  dances,  and  the  hour  passed 
pleasantly  until  sundown,  when  Dr.  Herly  again 
appeared  amongst  the  people.  He  made  them  a 
speech,  to  which  they  responded  with  hearty 
cheers ;  and,  when  he  thanked  them  for  their  cor- 
dial welcome,  they  answered  by  striking  up,  "  For 
he's  a  jolly  good  fellow;"  and  the  band  took  up 
the  strain,  and  the  colliers  marched  away,  roaring 
the  chorus,  their  foreman,  as  usual,  heading  the 
party. 

When  quiet  was  again  restored,  the  gentlemen 
left  the  ladies  to  the  thousand  preparations  for  the 
morrow,  and  strolled  up  under  the  park  trees, 
where  the  deer  were  timidly  herding,  having  been 
much  terrified  by  the  loud  singing. 

Dr.  Herly  was  thinking  of  William.  How  he 
missed  his  gay  greeting !  It  seemed  at  every  turn 
as  though  his  light  form  must  come  bounding  into 
sight.  Then  his  thoughts  drifted  to  his  own  long 
illness, — to  that  first  moment  when  consciousness 
restored  him  to  sight  and  —  to  Margaret. 

"Are  we  in  Heaven,  Margie?"  he  had  asked, 
feebly,  waiting  long  enough  to  hear  her  soft  reply 
of  "  Yes,  love,"  ere  he  had  fallen  back  again  into 
unconsciousness;  and  he  had  literally  lived  in 
Heaven  ever  since,  if  perfect  love  and  happiness 
could  constitute  a  Heaven. 

"  You  miss  William,  I  see,"  said  Crawford,  in  an 
undertone.  "Don't  mention  his  name  to  uncle; 


344  HEAVEN  S    GATE. 

he  can't  get  over  his  death,  and  it  would  upset 
him  for  the  evening."  , 

But  Mr.  Selwyn,  coming  up,  mentioned  the  lad 
himself. 

"  He  would  have  been  the  life  of  our  wedding 
party,"  he  said,  regretfully.  Then,  with  a  sigh, 
"God  knows  best." 

The  bells  rang  out  in  glad  tones,  —  over  the 
meads  to  the  bed  of  Severn,  where  the  salmon- 
fishers,  standing  knee-deep  in  the  tide,  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  "Boar;"  over  the  hills,  till  their 
vibrations  lingered  amongst  the  pines  of  Heaven's 
Gate,  and  brought  aunt  Cathy  to  the  open  door, 
all  dressed  in  a  festive  robe  for  the  occasion.  The 
phaeton  was  ready,  and  she  bade  Old  John  drive 
her  to  the  church. 

"  Not  that  I  approve  of  such  Popish  weddings, 
but  what  can  a  body  do  ? "  she  muttered,  with  a 
sour  look. 

Marta,  with  her  cousins,  who  were  to  do  duty  as 
bridesmaids,  was  at  the  Park  House.  Mr.  Selwyn 
was  to  give  her  away,  and  made  little  difference  in 
his  manner  from  that  which  he  held  to  Minnie ;  he 
had  always  liked  Marta. 

Aunt  Cathy  was  pleased,  in  a  grim  way,  to  find 
that  even  her  arrival  caused  an  excitement  amongst 
the  villagers.  She  alighted  at  the  church-yard  gate 
and  walked  past  a  double  row  of  school-children, 
who  stood,  with  baskets  of  roses  and  forget-me-nots, 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    FOREST.  345 

ready  to  strew  the  path  of  the  brides  with  flowers. 
When  she  entered  the  church  the  clerk  met  her 
and  marshalled  her  right  up  to  the  seats  in  the 
chancel.  Here  she  sat  and  waited,  and  watched 
the  nave  of  the  church  as  it  grew  more  densely 
packed  every  moment. 

The  hour  arrived  for  the  wedding.  The  bishop 
of  Gloucester,  assisted  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Marcus, 
stood  ready  in  his  lawn  sleeves.  Aunt  Cathy  eyed 
him  severely,  but  the  good  man  was  innocent  of 
her  scathing  opinion  of  him. 

The  organist  of  Gloucester  Cathedral,  who  had 
been  sent  for  to  grace  the  occasion,  now  began  to 
play  Mendelssohn's  Wedding  March ;  the  school- 
children were  heard  singing  in  clear,  shrill  voices 
as  they  cast  their  flowers  at  the  feet  of  the  lovely 
brides ;  then  Mr.  Selwyn  entered  with  Minnie  and 
Marta  on  either  arm,  Jennie  and  Olga,  Lillian, 
and  several  of  Minnie's  little  sisters  (the  youngest, 
being  only  three  years  old,  was  carried  behind  the 
rest  by  the  nurse),  following  as  bridesmaids. 

It  was  indeed  a  fine  sight ;  and  so  impressive  was 
the  ceremony  that  aunt  Cathy,  in  spite  of  herself, 
felt  tears  trickling  down  her  cheeks. 

The  sunlight  gleamed  through  the  coloured  win- 
dow, dashing  the  white  dresses  of  the  wedding 
party  with  flames  of  purple  and  gold.  An  aureole 
of  gold  encircled  Marta's  fair  head,  making  her 
more  than  ever  the  saint  of  his  ideal  to  one  on- 
looker, who,  acting  as  best  man  to  Crawford,  had 


346  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

to  see  the  woman  he  had  desired  for  his  wife  happy 
in  the  husband  of  her  choice.  Never  had  Craw- 
ford and  Mr.  Fordyce  looked  more  full  of  manli- 
ness than  at  this  hour ;  never  had  a  wedding  more 
approbation  from  the  village  folk. 

"  Miss  Marta  she  was  always  made  for  a  clergy- 
man's wife."  "Miss  Minnie,  she  and  Maister 
Crawford  be  just  made  for  one  another;  we  seen 
that  years  ago." 

Such  remarks  were  whispered  amongst  the 
crowd. 

"  I  feel  so  strangely  sure  that  William  is  here 
amongst  us,"  whispered  Marta  to  her  husband,  as 
they  turned  from  the  altar  on  their  way  to  the 
vestry. 

"  I  have  had  the  same  feeling  all  day,"  he  replied. 

Margaret  and  Dr.  Herly  took  aunt  Cathy  into 
the  vestry ;  and  Reginald,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
in  disgust  at  the  pain  he  felt  in  the  region  where 
a  heart  should  have  beaten,  followed.  In  pure 
mischief,  he  introduced  aunt  Cathy  to  the  bishop, 
and  the  pair  shook  hands. 

"  I  grant,  sir,  your  marriage-service  sounds  a 
good  deal ;  but  the  constant  use  of  it  must  take 
away  from  its  effect,"  she  began. 

"But,  bless  me,  madam,  people  don't  expect  to 
be  married  often  enough  to  grow  used  to  it !  "  he 
ejaculated. 

"  I,  sir,  am  a  Baptist,"  began  aunt  Cathy. 

"  Stop  her,"  cried  Marta,  in  a  tone  of  agony  to 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    FOREST..  347 

Margaret,  who,  with  a  skilful  interpolation,  de- 
livered the  bishop  into  other  hands. 

As  the  wedding-party  left  the  church  they  passed 
again  amidst  the  school-children,  and  stepped  on 
flowers  to  the  church-yard  gate  amidst  showers  of 
roses  and  sweet,  old-fashioned  posies.  The  bless- 
ings of  the  village  poor  followed  them  as  they 
drove  away  to  the  Park  House,  where  the  wedding 
breakfast  was  awaiting  the  party. 

Large  marquees  in  the  park,  and  the  presence 
of  the  brass-band,  gave  token  of  further  feasting 
during  the  day  ;  and,  ere  the  couples  had  departed 
on  their  wedding  tour,  all  the  village  folk  had  as- 
sembled in  the  park,  and  were  ready  to  sit  down 
to  a  dinner  of  the  roast  beef  of  old  England. 

"  It  is  so  nice  for  you  all  to  feel  that  you  are 
coming  back  to  make  your  home  in  the  West 
County,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Will  you  not  do  so  also  ?  "  asked  Minnie. 

"  I  fear  we  cannot.  Dr.  Herly  must  spend  the 
next  two  winters  in  a  dryer  climate.  After  that, 
he  hopes  to  be  strong  enough  to  live  in  England 
again  ;  but  we  shall  be  here  very  often.  Rhoda 
and  George  are  eager  to  have  us  at  their  home, 
but  we  shall  build  a  house  for  ourselves." 

"  O  Margaret !  it  is  sweet  to  see  you  so  happy," 
cried  Marta,  clinging  to  her  friend  ere  she  bade 
her  good-by. 

The   sun   has   set.     Aunt  Cathy  sits   alone   at 


348  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

Heaven's  Gate ;  a  light  wind,  springing  from 
Dean,  sets  the  pines  to  singing  in  their  monotone. 

"  Strange,"  said  aunt  Cathy,  "  I  do  nothing  but 
think  of  poor  William  with  his  fiddle." 

She  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  out  yearn- 
ingly. Only  the  setting  sun  with  its  glory,  only 
the  wind  from  Dean,  and  the  river  shining  in  the 
valley. 

"  I  am  an  old  fool ! "  said  aunt  Cathy,  and  she 
went  in-doors. 


THE   END. 


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